Nothing's Wrong"
by Kit H1
Summary: Something's definately wrong with Buffy. Spike may be the only one who can help her.


TITLE: "Nothing's Wrong" (13 Parts & Epilogue - Complete)  
AUTHOR: Kit H.  
PAIRING: Buffy/Spike  
E-MAIL: vidprin@aol.com  
RATING: R  
SUMMARY: Something's definitely wrong with Buffy. Spike might be the only one who can help her.   
SPOILERS: Through Season 6 Smashed and Wrecked.   
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters, and intend no copyright infringement. This is a work of fan fiction for which I am getting paid nothing.   
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first Buffy/Spike fic, and it's not beta'd so please be gentle!   
  
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^  
  
"Nothing's Wrong"  
By Kit H.  
  
1.  
  
The cut was small, but deep. Buffy hissed and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her heartbeat raced as adrenaline flooded her system. She regulated her breathing and cleared her mind of all thoughts, concentrating on nothing but taking the edge off the pain. Still as a statue, she sat in a state of suspended animation, heedless of the world turning beneath her or the slow, steady drip of blood down her arm. The comforting pull of darkest oblivion beckoned to her once again.  
  
Until a sharp knock shattered the silence.  
  
"Buffy, are you in there?"  
  
With the gasp of a woman about to drown, Buffy surfaced from the deep, shaking her head to fight the disorientation. Someone was pounding on the door. It was Dawn.   
  
"Buffy? Answer me!"  
  
The old-fashioned glass knob twisted and rattled as her sister struggled with the locked door. For a moment Buffy remained silent, watching sparkles of light dance off the crystal facets. Then, with an effort, she snapped fully out of her trance.  
  
"I'm here, Dawn. Just.....just give me a second."  
  
Wiping away the blood with a nearby T-shirt, she pulled down her sleeve to cover the wound.  
  
"Xander and Anya are here and they brought Chinese," came Dawn's muffled voice from the hallway.   
  
"I'll be right there," she replied. "I....I was just.....sleeping."   
  
"Whatever. Just hurry up or you'll be out of luck!"  
  
"O.K."  
  
As her sister's footsteps retreated down the stairs, Buffy stuffed the bloodstained shirt under her bed. With a shuddering sigh, she opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out a Band-Aid, tucking the razor blade back into its hiding place.   
  
* * * * *  
2.  
  
"Buffy seems better recently, don't you think?" asked Anya, as she dusted a display case in the Magic Box.   
  
At the nearby front counter, Xander and Tara's eyes met in a short but troubled exchange. Dawn looked up from her homework in time to catch it.   
  
"I mean, she's been more pleasant to everyone," Anya continued, cheerfully, "and she stares, zombie-like, into space much less frequently."  
  
"Anya---," Xander said, a strong warning note in his voice, "Ix-Nay with the Ombie-Zay." In a less-than-subtle stage whisper, he added, "She's in the next room on the phone. She might hear you!"  
  
"Oh, piffle," the ex-demon replied, with a toss of her hair. "And anyway, so what if she does? That was me saying a nice thing about her. And here's another observation that's equally nice. I've counted the times she smiled today since she came in, and the total so far is six. More support for my theory that she's improving."  
  
Tara joined in, a bit weakly. "Well, yeah. I have seen her smiling a lot more."  
  
Unwilling to add his thoughts to the conversation, Xander sat back in his chair and turned to Dawn. "What do you say, Dawnster? How's she been at home?"  
  
Dawn put her pencil down and closed her book. She thought about the strings of garlic hanging from her sister's windows, and the extra-large crucifix she'd taken to wearing this past week. Creepy, but not beyond the normal Slayer weirdness she'd gotten used to over the years.  
  
"Sure, I guess she smiles more and all. She laughs in the right places at sitcoms. She's even planning to cook a big turkey for Christmas, just like Mom used to do. You're all invited, by the way."  
  
"I'm sensing an impending 'but'," said Xander.   
  
"But...there's something not right. Most of the time she's all 'look at me, I'm Happy Girl', but if you catch her when she thinks no one's watching..."  
  
"What?" asked Tara.  
  
"I don't know, it's hard to explain. Another thing -- she spends a lot of time locked in her room alone. She says she's just sleeping. When she comes out she's all kinda zoned for awhile. But then she snaps out of it and it's back to Happy Girl again."  
  
The Slayer in question suddenly appeared in the doorway that led to the storeroom, holding up the phone and gesturing with it to her sister.  
  
"Dawn, Giles wants to say hi to you. Hurry up, this call's costing him a fortune."  
  
The younger Summers girl leapt to her feet and hurried to take the receiver, disappearing with it into the storeroom. Buffy took her sister's place at the table beside Xander.   
  
"So how's Giles?" he asked.  
  
"Good. He sounds good," Buffy answered, distracted.  
  
Tara spoke up hesitantly. "Did he s-say anything about W-willow?"  
  
Buffy nodded. "He managed to get her into that place the Council runs. You know, that hush-hush rehab place for witches."  
  
"Did he have any idea... I mean, do they know how long---?"  
  
"There's no quick cure," Anya interrupted. "No cure at all, really. Addiction to magicks is more powerful than any drug. I've seen cases that took years-"  
  
"Anya!" Once again, Xander cut her off with a warning, but not in time.   
  
Dawn stood trembling in the doorway, a look of fury shadowing her youthful features. "Good! I hope it takes a long, long time. I hope she never comes back!" Bursting into tears, she ran into the bathroom.   
  
Buffy got to her feet to follow, stopping first to give Tara's arm a supportive squeeze. "Don't let her get to you. She's angry and hurt. So are the rest of us, but it doesn't mean we don't still love Willow and want her to get well."  
  
Tara looked at her, too choked up to speak. Buffy hurried to catch up with her sister.  
  
"Dawnie? Are you O.K. in there?"   
  
Buffy leaned against the bathroom door, listening to the sounds of crying on the other side. After a minute, the door opened and Dawn beckoned her inside.   
  
"I'm sorry," she sniffled into a handful of toilet paper. "Tara probably hates me now, doesn't she?"  
  
"Nope. Don't be silly. Tara understands. We all do. You've got every right to be angry at Willow."  
  
"I still don't understand why she acted that way, do you? It was like, well - she wasn't even Willow anymore. Like she turned into a whole different person."  
  
Buffy shifted uncomfortably, looking for a way to change the subject.  
  
"What she did was so selfish and so - what do you call it - so self-destructive. And she was always so smart. How could someone that smart and that strong do something that stupid?"  
  
A cold sweat broke out on Buffy's forehead as a wave of nausea struck her from out of nowhere. "Um, I don't know. I guess it's complicated."   
  
"I was so scared that night. I thought I was going to die."  
  
Buffy gulped against the bile that rose in her throat. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "Oh, Dawn. God, I'm so sorry. It's my fault you were with her. I should have been paying more attention to what was going on. I should have been with you myself, but I was..."  
  
"Buffy?" Dawn saw her sister go pale and wobbly in front of her and forgot her own tears for the moment. "What's wrong? Are you O.K.?"  
  
"No, I'm not," the Slayer whispered, almost to herself. "I'm not O.K. I'm bad. I'm, um, feeling --- really bad."  
  
"I'm gonna get help," said Dawn, turning to go.  
  
"No. No, don't. I'll be okay."  
  
With a supreme effort, Buffy tried to pull herself together. She wanted to run. She needed to get away. She had to find a place to be alone, a place where she could do what she desperately needed to do.   
  
"You're sick, Buffy. I'll get Xander to drive us home right now, all right?"   
  
"No!" Buffy yelled, startling the girl. "No," she said again more calmly. "Just give me a few minutes alone in here, would you? I think it was probably something I ate. If I can stay still for a little while it might pass." Buffy steadied herself, thinking this might just work. "I'll pit all that Slayer willpower against my body's barf reflex. Be good as new in a few minutes. But I'm gonna need quiet and privacy, OK?"  
  
"Are you sure you don't wanna---?"   
  
"Yeah, I'm sure."   
  
Dawn looked worried and confused, but she agreed. "I'll get my stuff and get ready to go. If you need anything, just yell. We'll be right out there."  
  
Buffy nodded and locked the door after her. Shakily making her way to the stall, she sat on the toilet and looked around for something to use. Snapping the edge off the metal toilet paper holder was easy. Rolling up her sleeve, she felt herself start to relax with the first sharp, sweet, punishing sting of the makeshift blade.  
  
* * * *   
  
3.  
  
"But Buffy, it's nearly Christmas! Can't I? Pleeeaase?"  
  
"No. But you can hand me the box of green ones."  
  
Pouting, Dawn took the package of shiny glass balls over to where her sister was plugging in the Christmas tree lights. She frowned at the big evergreen. "I still think it looks crooked. And those red ones are too close together."  
  
"Yes, ma'am, Martha Stewart, Jr.," cracked Buffy. "A little less with the criticism and a little more with the helping would be, um - helpful."  
  
Dawn grabbed a box of snowflake-shaped ornaments and half-heartedly began hooking them onto random branches. She was so not in the mood to be doing this. And she wasn't in the mood to give up on what she wanted, either.   
  
"It can be your present to me," she wheedled. "I don't really need those suede boots I asked for. You can take 'em back and save the money. This would be the world's greatest present and it's, like, totally free. It's all I want, really. It'd make me so happy."   
  
"I said no, Dawn," Buffy replied, tired of having this conversation yet again. "You can NOT go visit Spike. And he most definitely can NOT come over for Christmas dinner. Especially not Christmas. This is a season of goodness, and he's a bad. I want him out of our lives once and for all. It's for your own good - believe me."  
  
"For my own good? Losing someone else in my life is for my own good?" Dawn discarded the box of ornaments and began pacing across the room. "My God, Buffy - how much do you think I can stand to lose? Mom died. You died. Riley and Giles went away. Willow turned against us. And now you want me to give up my friendship with Spike, too? How mean can you be?"  
  
Buffy's battered heart ached anew. She didn't want to fight today. She'd planned to put on her Happy Face and make it a Good Day. They'd do a little festive hall decking this morning, followed by a fun-filled evening at the ice rink. She knew they needed to spend more sisterly Q-time together, even if all they seemed to do lately was argue. It was always about the same subject - Spike. She had to be firm on her Spike Ban, but she tried to do it gently in hopes of salvaging the day.   
  
"I'm sorry. I miss them all, too. A lot. Especially Mom and Giles. But trust me, Spike is not your friend."   
  
"You don't know. You weren't here. He was good to me -- better than anyone else. And I care about him. I need him. I am not going to let you take him away, too, just because you're so mad about being brought back here."  
  
"I'm not mad."  
  
"You are so. You hate being back. And you hate all of us for wanting you to be happy here."  
  
"I am happy here."  
  
"Liar! You pretend to be, but I know it's all an act."  
  
"You're wrong, Dawn," Buffy stated, trying her best to be the grown up. "I'm not angry, I'm not unhappy, and I don't hate anyone."  
  
"Oh, that's right - I forgot," Dawn shot back at her. "You don't hate anyone because you can't hate. You can't love either. You're as dead inside as the Buffybot, just watching everyone around you suffer with that stupid fake smile on your face."  
  
"Dawn, stop," Buffy pleaded, feeling her control slipping, but Dawn was clearly beyond the stopping point.  
  
"Why? Am I gonna make you cry? Go ahead - cry! I'd like to see that. You haven't shown a genuine human emotion in weeks. Can you feel ANYTHING, Buffy? Well, can you?"  
  
"How dare you ask that?" choked Buffy, "Of course I feel. Of course I can love. You're my sister and I love you more than you know."  
  
"If you loved me, you'd let me see him!"  
  
Despite her best intentions, Buffy's patience evaporated. She raised her voice and snapped at her sister. "Dawn, I do love you. Even when you're acting like a spoiled brat. But for the millionth time, I've told you no and I mean no. Now stop with the tantrum throwing and help me finish the tree."  
  
Dawn stalked over to the half-decorated tree and, showing a strength that took Buffy by surprise, pushed the whole thing over with a giant crash. Ornaments and light bulbs shattered, sending fragments of glass flying around the room. Water from the overturned base spread across the carpet in an ugly black splotch.   
  
"There -- it's finished. And I'm out of here," declared the furious teenager as she ran out the front door.  
  
Standing amid the ruins of the living room and her fractured relationship with her sister, Buffy surveyed the damage. At her feet, the angel tree-topper lay in pieces. The delicate china heirloom had been her mother's; a favorite decoration Joyce had cherished ever since she was a little girl.   
  
Buffy knelt down and picked up the broken shards, closing them tightly in her small hands until they cut into her skin. She sighed and closed her eyes as streaks of blood began to seep through her fingers.   
  
* * * * *   
4.  
  
A half-hour later, having cleaned up the worst of the disaster at home, Buffy arrived at the door of Spike's crypt. Quietly, she pushed it open a crack, just enough to see inside.  
  
"I know you miss her, pet. I miss her, too. Your mum was one of the best people I ever met."  
  
"I just want to go to sleep and never wake up," wailed Dawn between sobs, clinging to the vampire for dear life.   
  
Spike stroked her back and gave her a squeeze. His tone turned stern, in a big brotherly way. "Hey, now. We'll have none of that kind of talk, right? How would Mum feel if she heard you say a thing like that? It'd break her heart, it would."   
  
Cupping her chin with his hand, he titled her head up to look into her crumpled-up face. You're breaking what's left of my heart little girl, he thought.   
  
Fumbling in the pocket of his duster, he came up with a passably clean handkerchief, which he handed to her. "Mop up, now, like a good girl, and I'll see if I can find some hot chocolate mix. Cocoa cures all ills, right?"  
  
Dawn nodded and blew her nose loudly, then threw her arms around him once again and held on tight.   
  
"Oh Spike, I've missed you so much!"  
  
Feeling a familiar presence nearby, Spike looked up to find Buffy standing inside the doorway. She met his eyes and cleared her throat to speak.  
  
"Dawn."  
  
Her sister looked back over her shoulder but didn't let go of the vampire. "Make her go away, Spike. Please?"  
  
Spike sighed, caught between the two women he'd been blessed, (or was it cursed?), to love.   
  
"Dawn, get your things. We're leaving. Now."  
  
"No. You can't make me!"   
  
"You know this place is off limits. But we'll talk about that later. It's time for your doctor appointment. Xander's waiting outside with the car to drive you."  
  
Reluctantly, Spike gently disengaged himself from the teenager's arms, brushing a few tears off her cheek before smoothing back her hair.  
  
"Better listen to big sis, Niblet."  
  
"But I don't want to leave," Dawn whined.  
  
Spike attempted a smile and reached down to take her injured hand in his. "There, now. Stop whinging. Want the broken wing to get better, right? Then best not keep the good doctor waiting."  
  
Dawn sighed and nodded. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. Not looking at her sister, she shuffled sullenly to the door. Buffy didn't follow.  
  
"You're not coming?"  
  
"I'll meet you there."  
  
"But what are you---?"  
  
"Dawn. Go now. You don't want to be late."  
  
"If you hurt him, I'll never, ever speak to you again for as long as I live," Dawn sputtered, fighting back more tears.   
  
Buffy heard the door slam shut behind her.  
  
Spike rushed to his own defense. "She just showed up here out of the blue, Slayer. In an awful state, she was, too; crying and carrying on like the world was ending - again. What's got her so upset?"  
  
"None of your business," Buffy snapped.  
  
"Oh, I beg to differ. You made her my business when you made me promise to look after the girl."   
  
"I'm back now. You can forget the promise."  
  
"If you think that's true, you don't know me very well," he challenged.  
  
"I wish I didn't know you at all," she snarled from between clenched teeth.  
  
"Oh, but you do know me. In the Biblical sense in fact, if memory serves," Spike purred, smirking at her as he leaned casually against the wall. He waited for an angry comeback, or better yet - a physical attack. But she didn't react at all. For a minute, he wondered if she'd even heard him.  
  
The silence stretched on, filled only with the sound of sputtering candle flames and the slow drip of water in a far off corner. Spike frowned. Something here was definitely off.  
  
"Slayer?"  
  
His voice snapped her out of it. Eyes blazing, she turned a venomous stare upon him. "What?"  
  
"You all right?"  
  
"No, I am SO not all right. What I am is seriously pissed off."  
  
"Nuh-uh. That's not it," Spike mused. He looked her up and down, drinking in her nearness after nearly a month of being shut out of her life. Her skin was paler than usual, and the normally glowing gold hair looked dull and lifeless. He examined her closely, finding more clues in the dark circles beneath her eyes; becoming more concerned about her with each passing second. "There's something else, something different about you - a feeling I'm getting. Like you're-"  
  
"If you use the "W" word again, I swear to God I'll stake you where you stand."  
  
"The 'W'--? Oh. Right." Spike looked down at the floor and swallowed hard. His next words were so quiet she could barely hear them. "No. No, luv. I'm sorry 'bout that. Never should've said it. I was just... You were driving me mad. It was a lie; a bloody stupid thing to say."   
  
When he finally looked up again to meet her eyes, she felt an involuntary warmth at the genuine remorse that filled them. Scowling, she looked away, staring into the distance. It was time for her to end this conversation. She should turn around and walk away right now, but her leaden limbs refused to obey her. Instead, her shoulders slumped. Her whole body sagged.  
  
Spike saw the change come over her. Tilting his head to the side, he tried again to puzzle out what was the matter.  
  
"No," Buffy said in a voice that was deathly calm.  
  
"No what, luv?"  
  
She shook her head and brushed the hair out of her face with a trembling hand, gathering herself to continue. "No," she repeated, as she met his gaze again. "It wasn't a lie. It's the truth, and we both know it."  
  
Stunned, Spike felt his head reel as pain stabbed his heart. Oh god, what had he done to her?  
  
"I. Came. Back. Wrong." Her steady voice held no emotion.   
  
"No. Don't say that," he said in a strangled voice as he moved to close the distance between them.  
  
She held up a hand to stop him, revealing the stake she'd had concealed in her sleeve. "Why not? You said it. And you were right."  
  
"Buffy-"  
  
"Shut up," she spat, sounding more like herself again, "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything you have to say, ever again - no matter how true it turns out to be."  
  
"But I love-"  
  
"NO!" she yelled, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the crypt. "I especially don't want to hear that."   
  
At last she felt herself regain some control, and she turned to leave, only pausing when she reached the door. "Stay away from Dawn. Stay away from my friends. And if you value your pitiful existence, stay the hell away from me."  
  
Spike watched her pull open the heavy door and walk out into the daylight. It hurt to see how much pain he'd caused her. Damn it, it hurt so much -- more than he thought he could bear.   
  
He stood at the edge of the patch of sunlight she'd let in and thought about walking out behind her, ending it all in a brilliant burst of flames. Instead, he pushed the door shut and slid down to the sun-warmed floor. He lost track of how many hours he lay there cursing himself for the cruel, pathetic bastard he'd become before he finally fell into a fitful sleep.  
  
When he awoke that night, it was with a newly strengthened resolve. Whatever was wrong with her, he'd damn well fix it. No matter what it required, no matter how long it took. He'd put things right. He'd make HER right, even if it was the last thing he ever did.  
  
* * * * *  
5.  
  
Christmas morning dawned sunny and bright, the exact opposite of Buffy's mood. She racked her brain for reasons to be happy on this day that was supposed to be all about joy, but came up with nada. Joy was missing in action these days and had been gone so long now she'd need a police composite sketch just to recognize it.   
  
She sighed deeply and poured the dregs of her morning coffee down the drain. Ready or not, Christmas had come and her friends would be here in a few hours to celebrate it with her and Dawn.   
  
Talk about a party doomed from the start. The Summers household was less than big with the celebrating lately, a clear result of the complete lack of glad tidings. Dawn had spoken less than a dozen words to her sister since being grounded for running away to see Spike. Buffy's attempts at coaxing the girl out of her room to come down and eat or watch a video with her were met with stoney silence and a scowl. She'd kept up this silent treatment for four whole days now, proving that Buffy didn't have the monopoly on stubbornness in the family.   
  
Buffy so did not need this holiday right now. It was just one more dose of tension added to the oppressive black cloud of stress she couldn't seem to get out from under. Having to deal with being back among the living was gut-wrenching enough without adding money troubles, an out-of-control witch, a rebellious sister and an un-dead guy she couldn't seem to get off of her mind, on top of it. Put it all together and it spelled Trouble, right here in Hellmouth City. With a capital T and that rhymes with V and that stands for Vampire -- namely Spike.   
  
"No, no, no!" she growled out loud. She was NOT going to think about that night anymore -- that crazy night in the abandoned building when more than just the walls came crashing down around her ears. It was so, so wrong; more evidence of just how messed up she was.   
  
She had to try to forget the intoxicating contrast of midnight black leather against silky ivory skin. And the stunned, drowning look in his eyes when he felt her join their bodies together for the first time.   
  
Damn it, why couldn't she just put it behind her for good? After all, she'd gotten over worse things than this in her life. She'd lived through the horror of her mother's death and even managed to survive two deaths of her own. And she'd certainly gotten over men before - even men she'd actually loved. So getting over a night that could only be chalked up to temporary insanity should be no big, right?  
  
Then why had she been feeling steadily worse ever since she vowed to end contact with the vampire once and for all? Why was the tension so unbearable that the only way to relieve it was--  
  
The shrill ring of the phone made her jump. Saved from her dark thoughts by the bell, Buffy picked up the receiver and heard the staticy echo of an overseas line.   
  
"Merry Christmas, Buffy. It's Dad. How are you?"   
  
Oh goodie. Something else unpleasant to deal with. Good ol' Dad calling from St. Moritz or San Tropez - one of those oh-so-fabulous San places -- with his 20-something girlfriend du jour. As she listened to her clueless father ramble on about his latest adventures, Buffy's pulse began race and she felt the now-familiar butterflies in her stomach flap out a nauseating rhythm in time with the pounding in her head.   
  
"Dad, I gotta go now. There's someone at the door," she lied, hanging up the phone in the middle of his goodbye.   
  
Buffy stood steadying herself against the island in the middle of the kitchen. With dismay, she looked around her at the makings of the Christmas dinner she needed to start cooking. Feelings of panic assaulted her once again. She couldn't do this. No way. It was too hard.   
  
As she stood there shaking, she found herself wishing for the tears that should be threatening right now. But, as always since her return, her eyes were dry. She knew exactly what she had to do. She didn't want to. She knew it wasn't right. But almost without her consent, her feet carried her up the stairs and into the stillness of her room. Feeling sick and ashamed, she locked the door behind her before reaching for the hidden blade.   
  
* * * * *   
  
"That was really good, Buffy, thanks," said Tara. The young witch smiled weakly and sent a significant look to Xander, who was seated across the table from her.  
  
"Oh! Yeah, Buff, definitely turkey-licious," Xander agreed, putting as much enthusiasm as he could muster into his voice. Subtly, he used his knife to push the remains of his dinner into as small a pile as possible on his plate.   
  
Anya opened her mouth to speak, but winced and snapped it shut again when Xander's sharp elbow launched a preemptive strike against her big mouth.  
  
Dawn was also involved in food-play, raking a zen garden into the cold lump of mashed potatos on her plate with her fork. She'd sulked her way through the main course in silence, which was only a slight improvement over the whining she did when Buffy asked her to help by setting the table and helping her serve.  
  
"Thanks, you guys. But I know it was bad. Not much with the cooking skills, this girl. But there's great dessert to make up for it --- from the gourmet bakery, by the way, so wipe those horrified looks off your faces."  
  
"There is a God!' exclaimed Xander, laughing as Buffy threw her napkin at his face.  
  
"Dawn, could you help me clear the table?" Buffy asked, starting to stand up.  
  
Tara jumped up and began to gather up dirty plates. "I'll help you, Buffy. Maybe Dawn can help Anya pass out the presents?"  
  
Anya looked genuinely happy for the first time all evening. "Oh good, is it finally time to open the gifts? I hope everyone got me something very expensive."  
  
The subject of gifts seemed to put some life into what had been a painfully stiff party. While Buffy cleaned up, she was pleased to hear laughter coming from the living room, where Dawn and Anya were shaking all the presents and guessing what was inside, while Xander insisted on playing the Chipmunks Christmas CD and singing along.  
  
She and Tara worked together in the pleasantly warm kitchen, swiftly disposing of the unedible leftovers and stacking the dishes in the dishwasher.   
  
"So much for my big Christmas dinner debut," Buffy said, ruefully.  
  
"It really wasn't that bad," said Tara.  
  
"It was a disaster compared to Mom's. She was really amazing. There were so many things she did for us - and she made them all look easy. It makes me feel so... useless."  
  
"That's not true. You're the least useless person I know," comforted Tara. "Your skills just lie in other areas."  
  
"Yeah - killing things, mainly," Buffy lamented, rubbing her tired eyes.   
  
"I was going to say saving people - saving the whole world, even."  
  
Buffy looked up to see the sincerity in her friend's face. She sighed deeply. "Sorry. Didn't mean to take a 'Poor me' roadtrip, there." She opened the bakery boxes and gestured to Tara to pick up a stack of small plates. "Anyway, if anything can cure a self-pity attack, it's gotta be double chocolate layer cake and amaretto cheese cake. I think they were recommended by 9 out of 10 doctors in a recent survey."   
  
"I saw that survey," Tara said slyly. "I think it was 9 out of 10 dentists. Something about the enormous cavity potential."  
  
"Killjoy."  
  
Tara laughed, "But come to think of it, I guess they're all, um, medical professionals, right?"  
  
"I like the way you think."  
  
They rejoined the others, who'd finished passing out the presents and were impatiently waiting. Fifteen minutes later, they were each happily playing with and showing off the gifts they'd received.   
  
"This is gorgeous, Tara, thank you," Buffy said, holding up a soft peach-colored sweater. "But I'll never get into it after all that cheesecake."  
  
The blonde girl smiled and went back to helping Dawn try on the pink quartz pendant she'd given her.   
  
"I love it, it's beautiful!" Dawn's face glowed, as she held the stone up to the light.  
  
"We just got that in at the shop last week. I was going to save it for myself," Anya frowned, "but then Xander and Tara convinced me that you needed it more."  
  
"Needed it," Buffy repeated, nervously. "What is it for? Is it--?"  
  
"It's n-not magical," assured Tara. "But pink crystals of that clarity are believed to bring the gift of inner peace to the one who wears them."  
  
"Thank you," said Dawn, giving the witch an enthusiastic hug.   
  
"Yes, thank you to everyone," Xander said. "Everyone except Giles, that is. The nerve of that guy to actually give me socks. Is that a British thing, or what? No one's given me socks since my grandmother back in 3rd grade."  
  
"It's the thought that counts, right Xander?" teased Dawn.   
  
"Does that mean Giles was thinking about my feet? Ew. That's just...disturbing."  
  
The doorbell rang. Buffy got to her feet, wondering who would be at the door on Christmas night - and hoping she didn't already know the answer to that question. When she opened it, there was no one in sight. She was just about to close it again, when Dawn came up beside her.  
  
"Look, down there."  
  
Two small, clumsily-wrapped packages sat on the front porch beside the door. Dawn gleefully picked them up and took them back into the living room.  
  
"They're from Spike! They've got to be!"  
  
"Dawn, no. Put them back," said Buffy, closing the door after a last look around to make sure the vampire wasn't still lingering outside.  
  
Dawn ignored her, sitting on the sofa and beginning to tear open the package with her name on it. Buffy stomped over and snatched it away from her sister.   
  
"Give it back!" Dawn wailed.  
  
"No, don't be stupid. We don't know who left these here. They could be dangerous." Holding the small package carefully with the tips of her fingers, Buffy looked it over closely.   
  
"We do too know who they're from," Dawn grabbed the box out of Buffy's fingers and ripped it open. Something shiny and silver fell out of it with a jingle, and the girl bent down to pick it up.   
  
"Dawn!"  
  
It was too late. Dawn held up the delicate bracelet adorned with an engraved silver charm. She read the enscription out loud. "It says, '100% Girl'! The other side says 'to D. from S'. Isn't it great? Oh, I love it!" Dawn grinned in delight and worked the clasp to put it on her left wrist.  
  
Buffy was furious. "Give it to me right this minute, Dawn. It's probably some kind of trick. We can't trust anything Spike does. He's evil."  
  
"You're wrong! He's not evil. You'd know that if you'd stop being such a bitch and let yourself get to know him."  
  
"Dawn! Go to your room, right now. When I come up I'm going to take that bracelet and send it right back where it came from."  
  
"Oh no, you won't! You're not my mother. You're not even my sister anymore. You've turned into a cold, cruel bitch! I hate you! You might as well still be dead!" the teenager shrieked. She ran up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door behind her.   
  
Stunned speechless, Buffy's friends stood by in awkward silence, watching as she turned white as a sheet, a shaking hand covering her mouth.   
  
"No, oh God, no," she mumbled to herself, weaving unsteadily on her feet.   
  
Xander took a step toward her, but she turned away.   
  
"Leave me alone," she muttered and fled to the kitchen.  
  
He moved to follow, but Tara put a hand on his arm to stop him. "Maybe you should give her a minute," she said. "I'll go upstairs and check on Dawn."  
  
Xander nodded and turned to Anya, "Why don't you get our stuff together, huh? I have a feeling the party's over."  
  
From the kitchen, the sound of glass shattering sent Xander into motion. When he burst through the kitchen door, Buffy was slumped over the sink, breathing hard. As he got closer he saw the blood - spatters of it mixed with broken glass on the counter; a stream of it dripping into the sink from a large gash across the back of one of her hands.  
  
"Buffy, are you all-- Omigod! What happened? You're bleeding all over."  
  
Buffy's head hung low over the blood stained sink, the thick curtain of blond hair concealing her face. She didn't answer him -- didn't even seem to know he was there.   
  
Reaching her side, Xander gently grasped her limp, bleeding hand and held it under cold water. When the bleeding slowed, he wrapped it in a clean dish towel.  
  
As he was bandaging her cut, she gasped for breath and turned her face up to look at him. Her odd, far-off expresson disappeared, leaving her looking a bit shocked but otherwise okay. Funny, he'd expected to see her in much worse shape.   
  
"I....I'm so clumsy. I broke one of mom's goblets," she said, calmly.   
  
"It's okay. It's just a glass. But that's a deep gash on your hand, Buff. Looks like you'll need stitches. Anya can stay with Dawn while I take you to the emergency room."  
  
Buffy pulled her hand away and shook her head. When she looked back at him, she was back to her confident, firmly-in-control self. "No, it's just a little cut. It startled me for a minute, that's all. I'm okay."  
  
"It's not so little, Buffy. C'mon, let's go."  
  
"Forget it, Xander. No way I'm going to sit around the ER on a holiday for something as minor as this. Super Slayer healing powers, remember? This'll be right as rain in the morning."  
  
"But - are you all right, really? I knew things had gotten rough with Dawn, but I hadn't realized it was this bad. Want to talk about it?"  
  
Buffy sighed deeply and shook her head. "Not now, okay? I'm way too tired."   
  
"Um, okay. But what she said back there - I'm sure she didn't mean it," said Xander, softly.   
  
"Dawn's having... she's going through a bad time right now. It's been non-stop trauma this year. Factor in raging teenage-girl hormones, and a crush on a certain blonde vampire, and it's like throwing a match on gasoline, you know? Kaboom!"  
  
Cringing at the graphic imagery, he asked, "So what are you going to do about her?"  
  
"Send her to a convent till she's 30," Buffy said, matter of factly.   
  
Xander looked shocked. His mouth moved, but nothing came out of it.  
  
"Kidding! Jeez, Xander, lighten up, will ya?," Buffy teased. "Dawn will get through this. So will I. That's not the first fight we've had and I'm sure it won't be the last. I'm just hoping we'll all feel better once we've put his year-from-hell behind us."  
  
"Yeah, good riddance 2001," Xander agreed, as he pulled her into his arms for a hug. He tried to tell himself everything was all right with his friend. But that wasn't the easiest thing to believe when all he saw when he closed his eyes was the after-image of her dark red blood staining the counter and swirling 'round and 'round, down the drain.  
  
* * * * *   
  
Over Anya's objections, Xander dropped her at their apartment, telling her he had a special last-minute Christmas surprise to arrange for her. He spent the next hour driving through the empty late-night streets of Sunnydale, not really knowing where he was going until he found himself at the cemetary gates.   
  
* * * * *   
6.  
  
Spike caught a whiff of a familiar male scent before he heard the creak of the heavy metal door opening, followed by quiet footsteps. It was no surprise when Xander planted himself between him and the telly, blocking off his view of the picture.  
  
"Oi - down in front," he complained, "I was watchin' that."   
  
Xander reached behind him and turned of the TV. "I need to talk to you."  
  
"Why the long face, Harris? Father Christmas leave a lump of coal in your stocking?"  
  
"I'm here because Buffy's in trouble."  
  
Spike's attitude changed in an instant. He got to his feet and grabbed his duster, ready to rush to the rescue. "What's happened? Where is she? Is she all right?"  
  
"What? Oh, no. It's not like that. She's at home. She's okay."  
  
"Well then, what's this about?"  
  
"She's not really okay."   
  
Spike scowled, tiring of the boy's nonsense. His eyes narrowed and flashed sparks of gold fire, and he walked up to him 'til they were standing nose to nose. "You've got exactly two seconds to make some sense, mate, or you can forget about ringin' in the new year."  
  
"Okay, okay," Xander raised his hands, gesturing for the vampire to back off. He began pacing across the floor of the crypt, in and out of the flickering shadows cast by the candlelight. "There's something, uh ... strange going on with her. I don't know what it is. Most of the time she seems fine, but then there're times like tonight."  
  
"What happened tonight?"  
  
"You mean you didn't lurk around to peek in the windows after you decided to play Santa Claus? Come to think of it, this is partly your fault."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"The big knock down, drag out fight they had over Dawn accepting your present. Buffy wanted to send it back."  
  
"Then the Niblet liked it, yeah?" Spike grinned.  
  
"You're missing the point, Spike. All you succeeded in doing is turning them against each other, and they've been fighting enough lately as it is. You should have heard the horrible things Dawn said to her."   
  
"Is that what this is all about? Some sibling spat?" Spike dismissed it with a wave of his hand.  
  
Xander pinched the bridge of his nose to try to relieve the pounding in his head. "This was a stupid idea. I shouldn't've come here. What the hell was I thinking?"  
  
"Exactly. What were you thinking?"  
  
"Right. Forget it," Xander muttered. He started toward the door of the crypt, but Spike called out to stop him.   
  
"Too late for that now. Look, something made you come here tonight to tell me Buffy's in trouble. Now you're here, you may as well sit down and tell me everything."  
  
Xander stood by the door for a second, torn about whether to stay or go. Finally, he took off his jacket and pulled up a chair next to Spike's. "All right, then, listen up ..."  
  
* * * * *   
  
Spike poured Xander another shot of whiskey, and refilled his own glass before sitting down. What he'd heard about Buffy's recent behavior only reinforced his own feelings that she was going through something serious.   
  
"Did she say how it happened?" Spike asked.  
  
"How what happened?"  
  
"The cut, man. On her hand tonight."  
  
"It was an accident. She broke a glass."  
  
"And she didn't seem upset when you found her?"  
  
"That's the weird thing. You should've seen her right before she ran into the kitchen, when Dawn said those awful things to her. She looked frantic, almost panic-stricken. But a minute later when I caught up with her she was calm as a lamb," Xander frowned as he recalled her odd reaction. "It gave me the willies. She was standing there watching herself bleed with this strange look on her face."  
  
"What kind of strange look?"  
  
"Um... spacey, blissed-out - almost like she was on drugs or something. But that couldn't be it. Buffy doesn't do that, and even if she did there wasn't enough time to take anything before I got in there."   
  
"Was tonight the first time somethin' like this happened?" Spike asked, lighting a cigarette.  
  
Xander shook his head. "I've been comparing notes with the others. These odd spells of hers seem to be happening a lot more than I thought. Tara doesn't think it's the result of any witchcraft. Anya thinks it's a temporary side effect of her being brought back from the...er, brought back. Like aftershocks or something."   
  
"And you? What d'you think?"  
  
"I have no idea. I'm really worried about her, but I don't know what to do." Putting down his empty glass, he got up and started pacing again. "I wish Giles was here, or Joyce, or even Willow. You can tell how desperate I am - I still can't believe I'm actually here talking about it to you."  
  
"You still haven't said what it is you want me to do about it."  
  
"Maybe you can... I'm here because you..."  
  
"I what? Spit it out, mate."  
  
Xander turned back to look at the vampire. "Oh, man - this is killing me to admit. It's just that -- you and Buffy; there's some kind of weird connection between you two. Maybe it's the whole Supernatural Being thing you've got working for you. I dunno. But you seem to see her in a way that the rest of us don't...or maybe can't."  
  
"There's nothing supernatural about it, Harris. I'm in love with the girl."  
  
Xander snorted, "Yeah, sure -- whatever."  
  
"You don't believe me."  
  
"I don't know what to believe anymore, Spike, okay? And I don't have anyone else to turn to here. So if there is anything you can do, you gotta help her. Help both of them. If you can do that, then who knows? Maybe we'll all believe."  
  
* * * * *   
  
Spike insisted he needed to spend some time alone with Buffy if he was going to help her, and Xander, after threatening to stake the vampire if even one of his friend's blonde hairs was harmed, reluctantly agreed.   
  
The plan to get her to his crypt was simple, as plans went. Just a bit of little-sister sleight of hand. Anya and Xander were supposed to be watching Dawn at the Magic Box. They sent her off to the movies with Tara instead. A phone call to Buffy telling her that Dawn had run off from the shop was all it took to send the Slayer in Spike's direction.  
  
The sun hadn't yet set when she arrived at the vampire's crypt and threw the door open. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dimness inside, but she immediately felt his presence in the room.  
  
"Where is she?" she asked, her voice hard as nails.  
  
"And good evening to you, too, Slayer," he answered, emerging from the shadows.  
  
"Dawn?" Buffy called, looking around the room.  
  
"Lil Bit's not here. You can search the place if you like," Spike said. He leaned his sinuous body against the wall, arms casually folded across his chest, looking like a cat who'd just eaten a whole nest of canaries.  
  
"Then let's go."  
  
"Go where?"  
  
Buffy sighed and explained, as if to an idiot child, "If she's not here, then she's missing. You have to help me find her. For all we know she's reckless enough to end up at Rack's place again."  
  
"Calm down. She's not there. She's not even missing. She's with the witch."  
  
"Tara? How do you know...?" Buffy took a closer look at Spike's self-satisfied expression and realized she was being played. "Okay, what the hell is going on here?"   
  
Slowly, Spike began to prowl around the edge of the room, putting himself between the girl and the door. "You and I need to have a little talk without any inconvenient interruptions from Dawn or the Slayerettes."  
  
"We've got nothing to talk about," Buffy said, firmly. "I told you before, what happened that night was a horrible mistake. It will NEVER happen again."  
  
"Who said I wanted to talk about that? Funny though, you do seem to have a one track mind about it," Spike said, with a grin that could only be described as evil.   
  
"Don't flatter yourself. And speaking of 'don'ts', you didn't seem to get my message about staying away from me and Dawn. I want you out of our lives, which means a big 'no' on the subject of gift giving. "  
  
Buffy reached deep into her coat pocket, took out the present Spike had left for her the night before, and threw it at his feet. He looked down at the still-wrapped package, a pained expression washing over his features for a moment. Then he drew himself up to his full height and stared her down.  
  
"Well, now that we've exchanged the usual pleasantries, let's get down to business, shall we?"  
  
"Just how delusional are you, Spike? We have no business, whatever you may think otherwise. It's all in your overbleached head."  
  
"Oooh, I wouldn't throw stones, pet - not with a head as messed up as yours," the vampire purred.  
  
Buffy sighed and shook her head. "Why do I even try talking to you? I'm out of here."  
  
Spike moved to block the door. "'Fraid I can't let you leave, yet, luv. First, you need to tell me - how did you hurt your hand?"  
  
Unconsciously, Buffy's right hand reached over to cover the bandage on her left. "It was an accident, I cut it on a glass. What's it to you, anyway?"  
  
"Something tells me you've been having lots of 'accidents' lately, haven't you?" he asked, drawing closer to her.  
  
The first nervous butterflies errupted in Buffy's stomach. Before she could catch herself, she'd taken a few steps backward, away from the approaching vampire. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.  
  
With three quick steps, Spike was upon her. He grabbed her left arm and pushed up the sleeve of her sweatshirt, revealing the scars of two more jagged cuts.   
  
"This is what I'm talking about. More 'accidents'?"  
  
Buffy's heart began to pound. She fought the rising feelings of panic and struggled to maintain a cool exterior, shaking his hand off her arm. "No, those are called injuries, Spike. You know, from fighting demons and vampires like I do every night of my life? Now get out of my way, I'm leaving."  
  
"Not yet, you're not. I know your dirty little secret, Slayer. And you're not leaving here till I have my proof."  
  
"You're out of your mind," Buffy whispered, calculating the distance to the doorway and out of this nightmare.  
  
"Yeah, I get that a lot. Now be a good girl and cooperate and this will go a lot faster."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"'Fess up. You're cutting yourself, isn't that right? You've even gotten yourself hooked on it."   
  
Buffy went cold all over. "Wh-what?"  
  
Spike saw her reaction and mellowed his approach. "Admit it, Buffy. I'm not here to judge you. I'm your friend. I want to help."  
  
"Ha! My 'friend'? Not if you were the last god-forsaken demon on the planet. I've had enough of this. Move away from the door or I'm going to have to hurt you."  
  
Spike's expression turned grim. "So, we're going to do this the hard way, eh? All right, then. Strip."  
  
"In your dreams, you perv," Buffy snorted.  
  
"I'm serious. Take your clothes off."  
  
Buffy was incredulous. How dare he try to pull this kind of kinky bullshit on her? "Or what?" she challenged.  
  
"Or I'll do it for you," the vampire stated calmly.  
  
"You and what army?" Buffy asked, confidently.  
  
Spike pulled a small pistol from his back pocket. "Me and my new friend Mr. Tranquilizer Dart Gun, here," he said with cocky glee. "So stop arguing and start peeling off those denims."  
  
Staring at the gun, Buffy felt the panic rise up inside her once more.   
  
"C'mon, luv. No need to play the blushing virgin. It's not like I haven't been up close and personal with what's underneath 'em, is it?"  
  
Buffy felt herself turn red from head to toe.  
  
"So what's it gonna be, then? You gonna shimmy out of those tight little trousers or am I gonna take 'em off for ya?" Spike asked, licking his lips.  
  
"No. Don't do this," Buffy breathed.  
  
"Admit you have a problem, and I won't have to," countered the vampire.  
  
The Slayer's eyes flashed angrily as she prepared herself to attack. "I hate you, Spike."  
  
"Sticks and stones may--- oof!"  
  
The kick came out of nowhere, knocking him back against the wall. Like a streak of light, she flew past him on her way to the door and her escape.   
  
Pulling the trigger on the dart gun was harder than Spike had expected it to be, but he did it. The dart found its target in the curve of her hip, felling his prey in a small heap on the cold floor. Great, Spike, he thought, now you've shot her. That should really help convince the girl you love her - you bloody great prat.   
  
* * * * *   
  
Spike lifted Buffy's motionless body up and cradled her in his arms, startled at how fragile she felt. There was no question about it, she'd definitely lost some weight since their night together, and it wasn't weight she could spare.  
  
He sat her down on the edge of the bed, letting her fall forward against his chest for support while he peeled her sweatshirt over her head. Gently, he lowered her down onto her back, eyes skimming across her stomach, chest and arms for more signs of self-injury.   
  
Other than the cuts on her arm and hand, nothing looked suspicious. The vampire felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps he was mistaken, after all?  
  
Continuing with his task, he removed her shoes before pulling down the blue jeans. As the smooth, pale skin of her thighs was revealed, he scented the tang of fresh blood in the air. And there it was: exactly what he'd expected and been afraid to see. Swearing to himself, he counted the small, neat rows of cuts, the freshest of which began bleeding anew as the rough denim pulled the scabs away.   
  
There was very little blood; still he was dizzy with it. It was Slayer's blood, after all. Buffy's blood. Despite the violence and lack of inhibitions that marked their one sexual encounter, he'd not tasted a single drop of her blood. Now the tiny red droplets sang their Siren's call to him and it was all he could do to fight the temptation to drink from her.   
  
Unsteadily, he pushed himself away from her and across the room to a place where her scent wasn't so overpoweringly intoxicating.   
  
Christ! He needed a drink. No. What he needed was to think. He knew what this was. He even had a pretty good idea of why it was happening to Buffy. What he needed to know was how to get her to stop doing it.   
  
One thing was for sure: letting her just get up and walk out of here once she woke up was not an option. Not if he was going to help her. And she needed help, no matter what she said. More than that - it was his help she needed.   
  
Who else in her life had a hope of understanding her strange addiction? Who else had the strength to stop her the next time she felt the call of the knife?  
  
The answer was clear. There was no one but him. He'd have to keep her here where he could help her get through the pain of withdrawl. What was the old saying? He'd have to be cruel to be kind. Of course, all she'd see was the cruel side. It certainly wouldn't help him win her affections.   
  
But what else could he do? What would happen when cutting herself wasn't enough anymore? What kind of pain would she seek out next? The kind that could leave her disfigured for life? The kind that could kill her?  
  
Spike sighed and reached out to smooth a strand of hair back from where it had fallen across the face of the woman who had now become his prisoner. This was yet another crime she'd never forgive him for. But if he failed to help her, could he ever forgive himself?  
  
* * * * *   
7.  
  
From his easy chair across the room, Spike watched the Slayer sleep. Nervously, he chewed on a black-polished thumbnail, checking the clock on the table beside him to see how long she'd been unconscious.   
  
Three hours and counting. She should only have been out for a little while. He'd obviously bolloxed up the dosage of Nembutal in the dart. Once again he rose and walked over to the bed to check her vital signs. Same as before; her heartbeat was slow but steady, as was her breathing. She was okay; she just wasn't waking up.  
  
Telling himself to calm down and stop being such a bloody wanker, he took a moment to check her restraints again. A sturdy manacle on her right ankle was attached with about 10 feet of heavy chain to a bolt in the stone floor beside the bed. He'd wrapped cloth around the metal to keep it from digging into her skin - not wanting to inadvertently give her a tool she could hurt herself with. He'd been tempted to chain her arms to the headboard for good measure, but decided against it. Instead, her wrists were cuffed together in front of her with a pair of fur-lined handcuffs, (a leftover from his days with the fun-loving Harmony.)  
  
His biggest defense against her escape was a small patch that released a steady dose of a powerful muscle relaxant. He'd placed the tiny dot between her shoulder blades where she couldn't reach it. Warren the boy genius Bot-builder had assured him the dosage wasn't enough to make her spacey, but it was guaranteed to reduce her Slayer strength to that of an ordinary human female.   
  
Lying there like that, so still and quiet, she almost looked like an ordinary girl. But Spike knew better than anyone what an illusion that was. Buffy Anne Summers was the most extraordinary woman he'd ever met. She had to be exceptional to make a soulless creature of the night like him forsake his evil ways and fall desperately in love with her.  
  
Desperate was the word, all right. He had only to look in front of him to see the evidence of his daft obsession. Keeping her here chained up against her will was sheer madness. He'd been out of his mind to even consider it. But then again, he'd been out of his mind to varying degrees ever since he realized he was in love with the Slayer and would do anything in the world for her. Anything, including incurring her considerable wrath in an effort to stop her from hurting herself.  
  
Spike sighed and carefully tucked the covers around the motionless girl. Then he sank back into his chair. He picked up one of the heavy books he'd stolen from the library and turned to where he'd left off. As long as she was still out, he might as well continue his research.  
  
* * * * *   
  
"Mmmmmmm," moaned Buffy softly as she slowly began coming to. She snuggled down into the soft covers, feeling the cool smoothness of satin against her cheek and she sighed. Her button-nose twitched a bit, sending a signal down her nerves that the end of it itched. Her subconscious brain got the message and automatically routed it to her right hand, which moved up to scratch it. For some reason, her left hand came along for the ride. Something was wrong here, time to get the higher brain functions involved. In a heartbeat, she jolted fully awake and began taking inventory of her situation.   
  
Right ankle manacled, hands in cuffs, (Fur-lined? Weird!), huge bed with white satin sheets, dank cave smell, coffin next to the bed. Shit. She was chained up in Spike's place. Suddenly it all came back to her. He'd shot her, the son of a bitch! When she got loose she was gonna stake him so bad!  
  
Buffy sat up in the bed and looked around for the vampire-soon-to-be-pile-of-dust in question. He sat nearby in a chair, staring back at her over the top of a large leather-bound book. For just a second she could've sworn he looked guilty. Then the expression was gone and he looked like his typical aggravating self.  
  
"So, Sleeping Beauty awakes at last. I thought you were going to sleep the whole night away, Slayer."   
  
"What the hell is this, Spike? Didn't you learn your lesson the last time you tried to keep me here in chains?"  
  
Again, Spike looked oddly chastened. "That was a mistake."  
  
"And this isn't? You think that keeping me prisoner here is going to change my mind about wanting you out of my life?"  
  
"No, I'm not that dim."  
  
"Oh, I think you are. Only an idiot would keep me locked up here, in the first place my friends are going to look once they figure out I'm missing. How long do you think it'll take before they show up to rescue me, huh?"   
  
Spike's confidence returned. "I wouldn't hold your breath, pet. The cavalry won't be making an appearance anytime soon. We've got time -- not a lot, but enough."  
  
"Are you nuts?" Buffy looked at the vampire like he'd lost his mind. "When I don't come home tonight, Dawn will get Xander and Anya and they'll come looking for me - tomorrow morning at the latest."  
  
"No, luv. You're wrong about that. Dawn thinks you're on your way to L.A. to visit the poof. She's staying with the witch until you return. And let me add she wasn't at all unhappy to get out of chez Summers for a few days."   
  
"Yeah, well maybe you can fool Dawn, but Xander will see right through that lame story. He'll-"  
  
"Harris was the one who helped me come up with it."  
  
"He... huh?" Buffy's mouth hung open for a long moment before she gathered her wits and snapped it shut again. Xander was in on this? No, that had to be a lie. This was all some kind of trick Spike had come up with to get her in his bed.   
  
"I don't believe you," she said, though her furrowed brow betrayed her uncertainty.   
  
Spike pulled his chair toward her and sat on the edge of it. Clasping his hands in front of him he leaned forward, looking the Slayer right in the eyes, favoring her with his most open, sincere expression.  
  
"Listen to me, Buffy. You're in trouble and everybody knows it. Your mates are just as worried about you as I am. They're at a loss about what to do for you."  
  
"So you decide to kidnap me? This is insane. You've got to let me go right now."  
  
"I can't do that. You need help. I think, no -- I know I can help you get through this."  
  
Buffy's expression turned incredulous. She laughed, a sharp cold sound that sent a chill through the vampire. "You're so full of it, Spike. Listen to you, acting all noble like you're trying to save me from myself. Give it up already - I know what this is really about."  
  
"You do, do you?"  
  
"It's totally obvious. You finally figured out I was serious about getting you out of my life, so you gave up on the subtle seduction attempts and actually drugged me and chained me to your bed! Is this fulfilling some sick bondage fantasy of yours? God, I can't believe how pathetic you are," she spat.  
  
"Is sex all you ever think about, Summers? Not that I'd be complainin' if it were, mind," Spike purred in the low, lusty drawl Buffy remembered all too well from the night they spent in the condemned house. He flashed her his patented evil grin and for a moment they sat there in silence, just staring at each other; she remembering the feel of his body under hers and he picking up on her racing heartbeat and rising body temperature.   
  
Buffy was the first to look away, cursing herself for still being attracted to the vampire despite her best intentions. But she could be strong now. She could resist. She didn't need what he had to offer anymore. She'd found something else just as powerful but better. Something she could control.   
  
As if he'd read her mind, Spike sat back in his chair and turned uncharacteristically serious again. "You know why you're here, Slayer. And we both know it's not about shagging this time."  
  
The girl scoffed, "Yeah, sure - whatever."  
  
Spike's eyes flashed angrily and he scowled at her. "It's time for you to be still and listen to me, pet. You have a problem. You're cutting yourself. Admit it."  
  
Staring him down, Buffy met his angry expression with one of defiance. "You don't know the first thing about it."  
  
"Oh, but I do. I've been studying," Spike gestured to the books piled beside his chair. "Want to hear what I've learned?"  
  
"Not particularly," she answered, affecting boredom by examining her chipped nail polish.   
  
"Well, as you're not going anywhere for the moment, humour me. The head shrinkers call it 'Self-Injury', luv," Spike said. Opening one of the big texts to a marked page, he began to read. "'Self-injury is a compulsion or impulse to inflict physical wounds on one's own body, motivated by a need to cope with unbearable psychological distress or regain a sense of emotional balance.'"  
  
"So? Is that your 'expert' diagnosis, Spike? Or should I call you Dr. The Bloody?" Buffy rolled her eyes, and worked on the cuticles of her left hand with the thumbnail of her right. "Dr. The Bloody Clueless, is more like it," she muttered.  
  
Spike slammed the book shut and stood up, towering over her. "You're the bloody fool if you think this is something you can mess about with. Cutting yourself to give yourself some kind of - I dunno - relief or what have you, it's like drinking or doing drugs."   
  
Spike was getting worked up and his words began making Buffy uncomfortable. She'd had enough of this latest little game of his. It was time for her to get going. She looked down at the silly fur-lined handcuffs. It should only take her a couple of minutes to pull them apart and get her hands free. As he paced the floor lecturing to her, she subtly began to work on the weakest part of the metal.  
  
"It might make you feel better for a little while," Spike was saying, "but it doesn't solve anything, it just covers up the real problem..."  
  
A frown creased the Slayer's forehead. She must have underestimated the strength of the cuffs. They didn't seem to be giving way at all.  
  
"...and soon you find yourself needing to do it more and more just to get the same kind of effect, isn't that right? When you started this you probably thought it was a one off. Well, from the number of cuts I saw, it looks like it's developed into quite the nasty little habit."  
  
Something was very wrong. The handcuffs weren't budging. It wasn't the metal - it was her. She had no strength. Whatever he'd shot her with must still be making her weak, which meant she really was a prisoner here. Who knew how long it would take before she could get herself free and escape? If Xander was really in on this with the vampire, she might be a prisoner here for days! Buffy felt the panic begin to bloom and grow inside her, fighting its way to the surface like a living thing. It was taking her over rapidly and she was powerless to stop it. She was trapped again. Trapped and frantic to get free.  
  
"You of all people should know how dangerous that kind of addiction can be," Spike continued, "There are always consequences. We've both of us just seen the consequences of Red's magic addiction with our own eyes." As he finished his point, he turned to see if he'd made any impression on her at all, only to find her pale as a ghost and breathing shallowly.   
  
"Nooooo," he heard her moan, as she struggled to get her hands free of the handcuffs.   
  
In an instant he was kneeling on the floor in front of her, reaching out to take both her hands in his to try and calm her. She tore them out of his grip, but not before he felt how cool and clammy they were.   
  
"Buffy? Buffy, luv, are you okay?"  
  
Her eyes were wild, pupils dilated and unfocused. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her face and neck, and Spike instantly was overwhelmed by the smell of pure fear. Buffy's efforts to free herself became more frantic. She got to her feet and ran, falling hard to the floor when the chain connected to her ankle reached its limit. Once on the ground she began to flail around, kicking against the chain that bound her. Then she started to scream, a sound of such pure terror it burned like a flame into Spike's very core.   
  
"Oh, unholy Hell - what've I done?"  
  
The Slayer's eyes stared into space, seeing nothing but the absolute blackness of the inside of her coffin. Her hands clawed at the air in front of her, feeling instead the slippery torn satin lining and splintering wood of her prison. The sound of her own ragged breathing echoed in her ears. Her lungs burned as she struggled harder, desperately gasping for oxygen.  
  
Spike dropped to the floor beside her, reaching to still her hands, fumbling with the handcuff key. "Easy, luv. I'm sorry. It's all right, Buffy. Please stop, you'll be free in a moment. It's okay."   
  
She didn't seem to hear him, just kept struggling against her bonds, making it harder for him to release them. Her screaming had stopped, but she was murmuring something over and over to herself like some kind of mantra.   
  
"No, not again," she panted, "no, please, god, not again."  
  
At last the handcuffs snapped open. Buffy's hands immediately reached for the metal band around her ankle, fingernails scratching and tearing the skin around it in an attempt to claw herself free.  
  
Spike saw her draw blood and grabbed both her hands in one of his own, stopping her from doing further damage to herself. With his other hand he unlocked the manacle.   
  
Once freed, Buffy shrank in upon herself, drawing her body into a small, trembling ball. At once her breathing began to ease and Spike felt a spark of hope that the worst was over.  
  
Wrapping his arms around her, he gathered her close to him, murmuring words of comfort to her as he tried to get his own raging fear under control. She continued mumbling to herself, but the words were no longer intelligible. Still she stared, unfocused, into space.  
  
Not wanting to leave her on the cold stone floor any longer, Spike picked her up and took her over to the bed. He laid her down, kneeling there next to her. Leaning over her, he reached down to her neck to check her pulse. Suddenly her eyes snapped open wide, focusing on him at last. Never had he seen her lovely green eyes so filled with fear. Guilty and grief-stricken, he began to move away from her, but she reached out and grabbed a handful of his T-shirt, holding him in place just above her with surprising strength.  
  
"No, don't go," she pleaded, her eyes filled with desperation. "Don't want to feel this, can't stand it." Her breath was still coming in short gasps, and he could see the panic begin to gain the upper hand again. "Make it stop, please just make it stop."   
  
He felt her pull him down to her and resisted. This was wrong. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He hadn't brought her here to take advantage of her. Gods, could he have screwed this up any more if he'd tried?  
  
Strong fingers moved down to work the button fly of his jeans and Spike felt himself become instantly hard. Instinctively he thrust his hips against hers, pinning her down with his erection and growing light-headed from the scent of her answering arousal. Like a woman possessed, Buffy worked to rid him of his clothes, and too weak to resist, Spike quickly freed her of hers as well.   
  
Then they were naked and then they were joined; mouth to mouth, hand to hand, and with a single breathtaking thrust, body to body. And oh - he was home, buried deep within the woman who made him whole. Above her, inside her, drowning in every inch of her. Needing her more with her every heartbeat. Loving her more with her every breath.   
  
She moved beneath him like a jungle cat, locking her legs together behind his back and using them to pull him deeper inside her than he ever thought possible. Urgently she met his every thrust, the fever inside her building as she quickly climbed towards her goal.   
  
Feeling her body wind ever tighter, Spike eased his pace, not wanting it to be over so fast. But Buffy had other ideas. In a single motion she flipped them over and trapped him beneath her, taking charge of their rhythm, not letting it slow down.   
  
Entranced by the sight of her moving above him, Spike gave up all control to his lover, concentrating on making himself last long enough for her to reach her climax. He watched her rock up and down on his cock; her eyes closed, head thrown back, cloud of golden hair cascading around her shoulders. He knew that he should be content with the amazing fact that she was here - miraculously alive and physically joined with him as one. It was beyond foolish to want more, but he did. He wanted her to open her eyes and realize she was with *him.* He wanted what they were doing to be more than a physical release, more than just a way for her to stop feeling the pain that so tormented her. He wanted her to be happy and whole. He wanted her beside him for a lifetime. He wanted her love.  
  
With a cry that echoed through the far reaches of the crypt, Buffy came. The powerful clenching of her inner muscles sent Spike over the edge as well, dropping him from a dizzying height into blissful oblivion. The Slayer collapsed on top of him. She slipped into semi-consciousness with a look of profound relief on her perfect features. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Spike wished there was some way he could hold her forever.  
  
At last, dazed and battle weary, they slept.  
  
* * * * *   
8.   
  
Strength. Spike had always believed his Slayer had strength enough to conquer anything. Never had he imagined seeing her weaken to the point of becoming some kind of addict. Never had he thought he'd watch her writhing naked beneath him, begging to be taken by a man she professed to hate, just to escape her pain for a little while.   
  
From the farthest corner of the room, Spike looked over to where she still lay sleeping in his bed. For the first time in over a century he felt physically sick to his stomach. His mind skipped back to the morning after the first time they'd had sex and he laughed; a short, sharp, bitter-sounding snort. He was such a bloody fool. He'd been so deliriously happy then. He'd actually thought that after they'd shared that incredible night of passion things had changed between them. That if he could bring her such intense physical pleasure, she couldn't help but have feelings for him as well.   
  
Now he knew better. He was no more than a thing to her, a tool she'd used twice now to block out the pain that haunted her every waking minute. If she'd had her choice between him and a sharp knife last night, he had no doubt she'd have chosen the blade. It seems once again he'd been nothing more than - what had she said? - oh, yes, convenient.  
  
Ah, good old self-pity. Combined with self-loathing, it made a bloke want nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion, never to see another moonrise. Never to look into the green eyes of the one woman he'd been foolish enough to give his whole heart to.  
  
He sensed a change in her breathing before he saw her begin to move in her sleep, apparently gripped by a bad dream. She raised her arms in front of her face, delicate wrists crossed in defense against some invisible foe. Her lips moved, and even from this far across the room his sensitive vampire hearing picked up her whispers of 'please' and 'no'.   
  
Spike's heart ached to know she was in such torment. She was going through agony he couldn't even imagine, much less help her recover from. She'd been ripped out of paradise, only to be returned to a world of loss and heartache. And worse, somehow she had come back damaged to the point that his chip no longer registered her as human.  
  
He looked down into the palm of his hand at the tiny patch he'd removed from Buffy's back as she slept. The drug would have lost its effect by now. Good. She needed all her strength. Without every bit of it, could she keep fighting to remain among the living? Or would she give in and find a way to be sent back again -- back to heaven and beyond his reach for eternity.  
  
"The hell with this," he mumbled, and went off in search of a drink.   
  
* * * * *   
  
Buffy's tossing and turning grew more frantic. Then suddenly with a gasp and a cry, she sat bolt upright in bed, wide-awake. For the second time in less than a day she looked around her, putting together the pieces of where she was and how she'd gotten there. Oh god, Spike's bed. Major deja-vu. Except this time the aches and tingles and stickiness between her legs were vivid reminders that she'd had sex with Spike. And this time she'd woken up unchained, so she didn't even have the excuse of being his prisoner to help justify what she'd done.   
  
She drew the sheet up around herself and looked around the crypt for a sign of the vampire. Thankfully, he was nowhere in sight.   
  
She quickly found her clothes and started dressing, trying unsuccessfully to stop the flood of memories of the hours she'd spent in Spike's arms. Being with him was like escaping into a different world where the pain magically vanished. Sure, the pleasure was incredible; mind-blowing in fact. But it was more than that. Somehow, being with this powerful creature who's strength equaled her own; this killer who'd terrorized the world for more than a century - made her feel incredibly alive. In some bizarre way, when she gave herself up to the electric passion between them, he made her feel safe, like nothing could hurt her ever again. Never had she felt so protected, so free to be her real self.  
  
But it had to be wrong. When she was in her right mind, she knew that and it made her ashamed and afraid. What did it say about her that she felt more at ease in the bed of a monster than in the company of her friends and family?   
  
Finally dressed and ready to go, Buffy sat back on down on the edge of the bed. If she were being honest, she'd admit there was a part of her that didn't want to leave. Where was she going anyway - back home where she had to pretend everything was fine? She damn well wasn't fine and she knew it. When she wasn't feeling numb, she felt angry. And when other feelings tried to surface, the pain and panic they brought with them threatened to push her over the edge. She looked down at the cut on the back of her hand and shuddered. Sometimes she felt like she was hanging off a high cliff by her fingernails.   
  
From up above she heard the sound of glass breaking. So, he was still here after all. She'd better get moving before he got another bright idea that involved tranquilizer darts and handcuffs.   
  
When she reached the top of the ladder she saw him. He was sitting on a bier, smoking a cigarette. What looked to have been a full bottle of scotch lay smashed into small pieces not far from him. Buffy's eyes met his and she was surprised to see he was stone cold sober.  
  
"Drop something?" she asked, with a sneer in her voice.  
  
"Nope. I just quit," he answered through an exhale of smoke, "cold turkey, as you Yanks say."  
  
"Right," Buffy scoffed, "you'll be back into the Wild Turkey before nightfall."  
  
"Don't bet on it."  
  
Buffy just shook her head and started walking toward the door. Bantering with Spike was a bad idea. Spike in general was a bad, bad idea.  
  
"What - no threats, no insults?" Spike shouted after her. "No warnings to stay away from your precious self or face the pointy-ended stick of your wrath?"  
  
"Would it do any good?" she asked, still walking away.  
  
"Buffy!"  
  
The note of desperation in his voice made her stop against her will. She closed her eyes and tried to force her feet to move forward, but they refused.  
  
"I'm sorry for what I did - trying to keep you here. I just... I was tryin' to help," he pleaded. "What you're doin' to yourself - I'm afraid for you, luv. You really need to get some help."  
  
Suddenly furious, Buffy whirled around to face him. "Don't you think I know that, Spike?" she yelled. "Do you think I like being this way - being some kind of messed-up freak?"  
  
"You're not-"  
  
"I am! But what am I supposed to do - find some shrink in the Yellow Pages? How do you think that would go, huh? 'Hi doc, I've been having some problems lately adjusting to being resurrected from the dead. And oh, did I mention I'm a Vampire Slayer? That's right, I go out prowling cemeteries at night killing demons and saving the world from assorted hell-gods because I am the Chosen One.' I'd be thrown in a padded room faster than you could say Mariah Carey."  
  
Spike could picture it clearly. She was right, of course. No doctor would believe a word of a story like that. Only a member of the Watcher's council or someone else with netherworld connections...  
  
"Of course! Why didn't I think of her before?" he blurted out, startling the Slayer.  
  
"What?"  
  
Buffy watched as Spike's expression grew hopeful. He jumped to his feet with feline grace and approached her with his customary boldness. She retreated a couple of steps, unsure of his intentions.  
  
"Not 'what', Slayer - 'who'. I know someone who might be able to help you. She's not a doctor, exactly. She's a healer. And she'd understand because she's half demon herself."  
  
"Are you crazy? Some half-demon witch doctor? That's the m-most insane thing I've heard come out of your mouth yet."  
  
"It's not insane, it's bloody brilliant!" Spike insisted. "I met her back one time when Dru'd taken badly. She works wonders, she does."  
  
Despite herself, Buffy found herself considering the idea. Maybe the only way to fight insanity was with another dose of insanity. "But eww, she's all demony? Who says she wouldn't try to kill me or something?"  
  
Spike chuckled, "Oh, she looks human enough, and there's nothing dangerous about her. Her mum was a full-blooded Pathos demon, and a healer like herself."  
  
"Pathos demon? Never heard of 'em," she said, skeptically.  
  
"That's 'cause they're rare, see. Very special powers - they can tell what you're feeling, and can do something about making you feel better in return."  
  
Buffy glanced toward the door, thinking about what awaited her on the other side -- pretending, hurting, using all her energy just to struggle through each day in a life she hadn't wanted to return to in the first place. She was so tired. So very, very tired. She sighed deeply. Maybe she was as loony as Spike. But what did she have to lose?  
  
"Where do I find her?"  
  
"I'll find her. I'll bring her to your house - tonight, yeah?" Spike asked.  
  
"No way! You are NOT coming anywhere near my house tonight or any other night. Why do you even have to be involved?"  
  
"I know her, you don't. She usually doesn't work on humans, but I know I can convince her. And she'll want to meet you where you live - something to do with vibrations or whatnot."  
  
Buffy threw her hands up in resignation, too tired to argue any more. "Okay, then. You bring her. But this had better not be another one of your stupid tricks, you hear me? I'll meet her this one time. Just for the record, I'm not holding out a lot of hope for this," she said, as she finally reached the door and walked out, slamming it behind her.  
  
"That's all right, luv," Spike murmured to himself, "I've got hope enough for the both of us."  
  
* * * * *   
9.  
  
The doorbell rang a little before seven. Buffy opened the door to find a tiny woman who looked to be in her sixties standing there smiling serenely up at her, with Spike a few steps behind watching their meeting nervously.   
  
"Oh, hello. Are you--?" Buffy asked, uncertainly.   
  
"Hello, Miss Summers," the woman answered in a strong voice that belied her small stature, "I'm Margaret O'Shea."   
  
"I'm Buffy. Please come in."   
  
She stood aside in the doorway, opening the door wide while the woman stepped over the threshold. Once inside, her guest turned and looked back at Spike, a questioning expression on her tiny features. Buffy looked uncomfortably from the woman to the vampire.  
  
"Oh -- no worry, luv. I'm not expectin' an invitation," Spike said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Was plannin' to wait out here anyway." He glanced up at the Slayer from under long lashes and nodded to her before turning away to lean against the porch railing.   
  
Buffy closed and locked the door and gestured for the woman to go into the living room.  
  
"May I take your coat?" she asked, feeling oddly as if the spirit of her mother were standing at her shoulder watching to make sure she was a gracious hostess. Ms. O'Shea handed her a vintage-looking blue wool coat but held on to her Queen Elizabeth style handbag as she took a seat in a high backed upholstered chair. "Would you like something to drink?" Buffy offered, again feeling like she was channeling Miss Manners.   
  
"No thank you, my dear."  
  
Buffy sat down on the sofa opposite the woman, unsure of how this was supposed to go. "So, Spike says you're a healer," she began. When Margaret smiled and nodded, she continued. "And that you understand what a Vampire Slayer is, and that I am, you know... one."  
  
Again the woman nodded and smiled peacefully, but didn't speak.  
  
"What exactly has he told you about me?" the girl asked, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer. She wouldn't put it past the vamp to have filled this woman in on everything from her shoe size to her favorite sexual position.  
  
Margaret folded her hands demurely in her lap and spoke in a soothing voice with the hint of a lilting Irish accent. "Ah well, I hope you don't mind, but he has related to me many of the tragic events you've experienced in the past year. You have my deepest sympathies on the loss of your mother."  
  
Swallowing hard, Buffy drew her feet up underneath her on the sofa and wrapped her arms around herself. "I miss her so much."  
  
"Of course you do."  
  
"So you know about Dawn - that she's the Key?"  
  
Margaret nodded, "And about your battle with Glorificus."  
  
"And that I was... that a few months ago I..."  
  
"Died? And were brought back magically by your Wiccan friend called Willow? Yes. He told me all that, and also that since you've been back you've been-"  
  
"Wrong," Buffy whispered to herself, looking down at her lap.  
  
"Pardon me, dear?" inquired Margaret gently.  
  
"Nothing," Buffy said, before changing the subject. "I've never done this therapy, healing, whatever-you-call-it thing before. How does it work?"  
  
"To start, we just talk. That's all," the woman said simply.  
  
"And you - you have some kind of special, um, powers because you're part dem--, I mean, excuse me..."  
  
Margaret laughed, a delightful little sound that made Buffy smile a little in return. "Demon. You can say the word, child, I'm not ashamed of my demon half. In fact, it's a blessing in the kind of work I do."  
  
Buffy looked as if she wanted to ask a question, but couldn't decide whether or not she should. Margaret sensed her curiosity. "Go ahead, ask me whatever you want."  
  
Looking a little startled, the Slayer stuttered, "s-so you can read my mind?"  
  
"Not your thoughts, don't worry. It's your feelings I'm in tune with. Sometimes your feelings reveal a great deal about what you're thinking, but I'm no mind reader."  
  
Knowing that her every thought wasn't an open book to this stranger, Buffy relaxed a bit. She took a deep breath. "Okay, I guess I'm ready. Where do we begin?" she asked.   
  
"Wherever you would like. There are no rules here. You just tell me whatever is on your mind and we talk about it together, all right?" asked Margaret, settling in to her chair more comfortably.  
  
"All right," agreed the Slayer.  
  
* * * * *   
  
Buffy heard the low melodic chimes of her mother's anniversary clock in the next room and checked her watch. "Omigosh! Is it really that late? I'm so sorry. We said an hour, right? And it's been three! You should have said something, Margaret."  
  
The older woman just smiled the serene smile that Buffy had become familiar with during the evening, and rose gracefully from her chair. "Nonsense, child. I told you there were no rules, did I not? But it is time for me to go now."  
  
Buffy couldn't believe they'd been talking for so long. The time had seemed to pass so quickly. They'd mainly talked about all that had happened in the last year. About how she'd gained a sister, but lost so very much along the way. Her mother, her Watcher, her boyfriend, even her best friend were now gone, leaving her to cope with so much on her own. And that didn't even take into account the ultimate loss she'd experienced - the loss of paradise.  
  
After their session she felt worn out but calmer than she remembered feeling in quite awhile. There was something really unique about Margaret, something that put her remarkably at ease. It was hard to think of her as any kind of demony thing at all.  
  
"I'd like to meet again soon and take up where we left off, if you're interested in continuing," Margaret said.  
  
"Yeah. Please. It was ... good."  
  
Margaret saw Buffy look down at the jagged scab on her left hand and felt the girl's anxiety level begin to rise.   
  
"Um, we didn't talk about the -- you know," she said, uncomfortably.  
  
"We will," soothed Margaret. "Tell me, do you feel the need to cut yourself right now?"  
  
Buffy shook her head.  
  
"That's good to hear. You look so tired, my dear. You must be exhausted. Get some sleep tonight. Perhaps I could come back tomorrow evening? That is, if William is available to drive me. I gave up driving many years ago and it's not easy for me to get around on my own, you see."  
  
"William?" Buffy asked, not instantly making the connection. "Oh! Spike."  
  
"He's been very kind to bring me here and wait for me tonight. Would you do me a favor and ask him about tomorrow night while I freshen up a bit?"   
  
Buffy pointed her toward the powder room and reluctantly went out to the front porch, gathering her cardigan sweater closer around her as she stepped out into the chilly night air. She found Spike where she expected, sitting on the front steps. When he heard the door open behind him he quickly got to his feet, searching her face for a clue about how things had gone inside.  
  
"Where's Margaret?" he asked.  
  
"She'll be out in a minute," Buffy answered. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and avoided meeting his eyes, uncomfortable to be alone with him again. "She wanted to know if you could bring her back tomorrow night."  
  
"Yeah, any time. You got on with her okay, then?" he asked.  
  
Buffy walked past him and stood at the porch railing, looking out into the peaceful night. "She's.... she's amazing. I've never met anyone like her before," she answered. She turned to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time. The naked concern and care for her that she saw in them touched her, but she shrugged the feeling off and concentrated on her anger.   
  
"Look, don't get the wrong idea just because I'm not staking you here and now," she began, sternly, "I am not going to forgive you for the stupid kidnapping stunt you pulled. You can keep bringing Margaret over but you're not setting a foot inside, got it? And if you dare say one word about what happened last night to anyone, you won't even see the stake coming before you're dust."   
  
Looking down at his feet, Spike nodded his understanding. Better to be of use to her than be shut out of her life again. He ran a nail-bitten hand through his short wavy hair, not sure if he should apologize again or just shut up and leave bad enough alone. He expected to hear the slam of the front door behind her any second, but when he looked up again she was still standing there in front of him, scowling.  
  
"What?" he asked quietly, ready to stoically take whatever other abuse she was prepared to heap on him.  
  
"About Margaret..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
She was about to say something else when the woman walked out the door, struggling a bit with her coat.   
  
"Are we on for tomorrow, then?" she asked, looking from Buffy to Spike.  
  
"All set," confirmed Spike, helping her on with her coat.   
  
"Good night, Buffy," said Margaret, holding out her hand to the girl.  
  
Buffy gave the woman's hand a quick squeeze and answered, "Good night."   
  
As Spike helped Margaret down the front steps he heard the Slayer add in a voice too soft to be meant for anyone's ears but his, "Thank you."   
  
When he looked back over his shoulder, Buffy was looking right at him with a strange expression on her face. Pleasantly surprised, he nodded back at her. As he drove Margaret home, the small flicker of hope he'd been feeling since the morning flared up, however unwisely, into a full-fledged flame.   
  
* * * * *   
  
10.  
  
When Buffy walked into the Magic Box the next morning, four very surprised faces looked up to see her. Three of them smiled at her. The fourth averted his eyes. Okay Xander, Buffy thought, you and I are going to have a little talk.  
  
"Buffy! We didn't expect you back so soon. How was L.A.?" asked a clearly confused Tara.   
  
"Change of plans. I kind of got sidetracked - you know, unexpectedly tied up."  
  
Xander looked like he was going to lose his breakfast. He glanced toward the door, thinking about making a break for it.   
  
"So, you didn't go at all?" asked Dawn.  
  
"Nope. I thought I needed a little quality time with you and my friends," Buffy said, her eyes boring a hole through Xander. "Thanks for letting Dawn stay with you, Tara. But I'm back now and she can come home."  
  
Dawn made a face and ignored her sister.  
  
"Dawn," Buffy began, "I know things have been a little rough between us lately, but I'd really like you to come home so we can talk about it. I want things to be better."  
  
Dawn kept staring down at the textbook she was reading, but she nodded her head in acceptance. Buffy wondered if she'd been anywhere near that stubborn at 15, but realized she'd probably been even worse. She sighed. Fixing her relationship with her sister wasn't going to be easy. But maybe Margaret could help her with that, too.  
  
"So, Xander - I wonder if I could talk to you for a minute in private?" Buffy asked pointedly.  
  
Squirming, Xander tried to worm his way out of it. "Well, Buff, Anya and I have a lot of planning to do on the wedding and stuff, so I'm pretty busy."  
  
From behind the counter Anya nodded her head in agreement. "Yes, we need to decide on the color of the boutonnieres. I've narrowed it down to 17 choices."  
  
"Big-time decisions, for sure," agreed Buffy, "but maybe what I want to talk to Xander about is, um, a special surprise for the bride."  
  
"A surprise? I love surprises!" crowed a delighted Anya. "Go ahead, Xander, talk to Buffy. How about in the training room, that's private, right?"  
  
Like a condemned man, Xander preceded the Slayer into the training room, turning to face her when he heard the door close behind them.  
  
"Buffy, I'm really sorry," he began.  
  
"Save it. I don't want to hear your lame excuses."  
  
Her friend hung his head, knowing there was little he could say to make up for betraying her. "I know you don't want to hear it, but maybe you need to. I went to Spike because I was scared. Looking back on it, not the brightest move I ever made. But without Giles or Willow or anyone here, I didn't know what to do."  
  
Suddenly feeling way too tired to have this conversation, Buffy pushed her anger aside and decided it wasn't worth the energy to fight. Maybe he had meant well. Everything around her was so screwed up; it was hard to tell anymore.  
  
"Just... don't ever do anything like that again, okay?"  
  
"Look, I know I messed up. But tell me - are you really all right? Is there anything I can do? 'Cause you know I'll do anything. You just have to ask."  
  
The look on his face reminded her of all the times he'd been there for her in the past. Good old reliable Xander. "I know. Thanks, " she said. "I ... I'm not really all right. It's no big secret, I guess. I haven't been quite myself since ... you know. But I met someone; she's kind of a therapist. She knows all about vampires and demons and the stuff I've been through, and I hope maybe she can help me."   
  
"That's great," said Xander, "If you need me to drive you to see her or watch Dawn for you, just say the word."  
  
"It's, um, taken care of for now," she said.  
  
"Okay, then. Are we ... cool?" he asked, looking worried.  
  
"Yeah. We're cool."  
  
Xander came up to her and placed a brotherly kiss on her forehead, then left her alone. Buffy looked around the empty training room, remembering all the hours she'd trained here with Giles in the past. If he were here now, what would he say to her? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine it.   
  
'You're strong, Buffy. You can do this,' she could almost hear him say in that starched British accent of his.   
  
Oh, Giles. I'm so, so tired. And it's so damned hard without you here, she thought in reply. Turning her back on the memories, Buffy walked out the back door into the alley and headed for home.   
  
* * * * * *   
  
Evening came, and after a strained pizza dinner to welcome Dawn back, the sisters went their separate ways. Dawn was upstairs watching TV in her room when Spike brought Margaret over promptly at seven.  
  
Without exchanging words with the vampire, Buffy invited the woman in and they settled in to start their second session together.   
  
"Do you feel ready to talk about the cutting, Buffy?" asked Margaret.  
  
Buffy felt her anxiety level crank into a higher gear, but she nodded.   
  
"It's all right, dear. I know this is difficult. But it's very important."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Can you tell me about the first time? When was it? What happened just before?"  
  
Buffy sent her mind back to the night after she'd had sex with Spike in the tumbled-down building. She remembered sitting up all night in bed holding a cross, strings of garlic at the windows. From across the hall she'd heard Dawn moaning in her sleep and had gone into her room to investigate. Seeing her little sister lying there with her bruised face and broken arm, tossing and turning in the throes of a nightmare, was what had set off the awful feelings of choking, unrelenting panic.  
  
She'd fled back into her own room, overwhelmed by a need to run away, a need to escape from her very own skin. Stumbling across the room towards her bed, she knocked a bottle of perfume off her dresser. It shattered into dozens of shiny pieces when it hit the floor.  
  
"I don't know what made me do it," she told Margaret, "but for some reason I sat down by the broken bottle and picked up a sharp piece of it. The next thing I knew I was making a cut in my arm and just watching the blood run down to my hand."  
  
"Were you trying to kill yourself?"  
  
"No, it wasn't like that. The cut wasn't near a vein or anything. But as soon as I did it, I felt this sense of ... of calm come over me. It's like everything else in the world faded away and all that was left was me and the cut and the pain and the blood. It felt kind of ... pure, cleansing. It's hard to explain. I don't know how long I sat there but when I snapped out of it, I didn't feel the need to run away anymore."  
  
"And can you tell me exactly what you were feeling when the panic began?"  
  
"No, not really. It was just a jumble. Nothing I can put a name to. Just complete darkness and a swirl of terrible feelings. And mostly a really desperate need to make it stop."   
  
Margaret nodded and asked, "In general, what kinds of emotions have you been feeling since you've been restored to this world?"  
  
"Umm... I don't know. I guess the one that stands out is anger. I do anger really well. But otherwise, it's hard to say. At first I was just totally numb. Now it's more like somebody hit the mute button on my remote control."   
  
"Have you cried at all?"  
  
"No. There are times I think I should feel like crying, but I can't. Then the nasty terror feelings start to take over." Buffy watched Margaret's reaction to her answer. She could almost see the wheels turning in the woman's mind.   
  
"What?" she asked. "What's wrong with me, Margaret?"  
  
"I'd like to try something. It's a technique I use to help me see more clearly into your feelings. It should help me find out more about what's going on with you. Are you up to it?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," said Buffy. "What exactly do you do?"  
  
"It's a bit like a trance. We sit together quietly with our eyes closed and I hold your hands. You try to empty your mind and relax. It's the best way for me to make the strongest connection with your emotions."  
  
"Okay. Let's go for it," Buffy agreed.  
  
* * * * *   
  
Outside, Spike finished his last cigarette and started pacing the length of the porch. Bored and curious, he peeked into the living room window and saw Margaret and Buffy sitting together, doing what looked like some kind of meditation. After a minute, Margaret dropped Buffy's hands as if she'd been burned and sat back in her chair, looking quite drained.  
  
Spike put an ear to the window, tuning his sensitive hearing into their conversation.  
  
"What happened?" asked a concerned Buffy.   
  
"It's much as I expected. Your emotions are in near total disarray. Hardly surprising after what you've been through. Resurrection spells are notorious for not being 100% effective."  
  
"Then it's true, what Spike said to me - that I came back wrong," Buffy whispered in horror.  
  
"Nonsense, Buffy. That's not what I meant at all. Willow's spell brought your body back perfectly well, but it's often much easier to restore the body than the heart," Margaret explained. "Your emotional self has suffered a devastating wound. It's put up a powerful block between your feelings and the outside world. Think of it like a cell your emotions are locked inside, only the cell isn't strong enough to hold them in forever. Right now your feelings are like a volatile, violent storm that's trying hard to break through the wall to get to the surface. When that happens, you feel your panic symptoms."  
  
"Can you do something? Like unscramble my feelings and put them back the way they were?"  
  
"Eventually I will be able to do just that. I can use that same connection technique and reach into your emotions to help bring order to them again."  
  
"Eventually? Why not now?" Buffy asked, frustrated.  
  
Margaret shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Buffy, but the barrier is too strong for me to get through. I'm afraid the first breakthrough is going to have to occur naturally."  
  
"But, that's not fair! The panic attacks, the cutting - it's all too much. I don't know how much more I can take."  
  
"Easy, now. The first thing we're going to do is help you find some other ways to cope with the panic - some non-destructive methods to deal with those episodes, all right?"  
  
"You can do that?"  
  
"Yes I can. I can teach you several of them tonight, in fact. But first, tell me, have you found any other ways that help you cope with these attacks, other than the cutting?"  
  
Buffy's face turned bright scarlet. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Margaret picked up on her intense embarrassment and discomfort.  
  
"You don't have to be embarrassed or ashamed of anything you tell me, dear. Believe me, with the kinds of patients I've treated over the years I've heard everything you could imagine, and many things you couldn't," coaxed Margaret, kindly.  
  
"Okay. Well, um ... sex. When I have sex the bad feelings go away," said Buffy, not meeting Margaret's eyes.  
  
"Yes. Sex is a good, natural release. You're a healthy young woman, Buffy. There's no need for you to be embarrassed about having sexual relations. I assume you were sexually active before your recent ... death."  
  
Looking up, Buffy nodded at the woman, starting to feel a little more comfortable with the subject.   
  
"And your partner - does he know what you've been through? Is he someone you can talk to? Someone you can lean on?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, sometimes, I guess. It's ... complicated."  
  
The anxiety and confusion the girl was feeling came through loud and clear to Margaret's senses. "Why is it complicated?"  
  
"Because it's Spike, okay?" Buffy burst out. "And Spike's - Bad. We're enemies. I mean, we were. But now there's this ... THING between us. I try to fight it, but when he's standing close to me I ... it's like I lose my mind or something."  
  
"Ah," said Margaret. "You're feeling a great deal of guilt about your relationship with him. You desire him, but you think it's wrong to want him."  
  
"It IS wrong."   
  
"You think it's wrong to be with someone who loves you so completely?"  
  
Surprised, Buffy asked, "Did he tell you that?"  
  
Margaret chuckled, "Child, I don't have to be half Pathos Demon to see he's head over heels in love with you. No, he hasn't said anything to me about his feelings, but from the moment I saw you two together I knew the depth of his love for you."  
  
"But ... how can that be? How can Spike love? He's a vampire; he has no soul."  
  
"Your Spike is a rare case, to be sure. I've never met another vampire with such a capacity for caring and love. But there are vast differences between living people's abilities to have deep feelings, aren't there? So why shouldn't the same thing be true of other creatures?"   
  
What Margaret was saying made some sense to Buffy. After all, human beings could be as different from each other as Hitler and Mother Teresa. Maybe there were the same kinds of extremes in vampires.  
  
"What there is between you and William is really none of my business, Buffy. But if you've been wondering if his feelings for you are genuine, I can tell you that they are. He loves you with all his being. And knowing a bit about his past, I can tell you he's one of the most fiercely loyal men I've ever met."  
  
Buffy was deep in thought, trying to process this new information. Margaret decided it was time to get back to the subject at hand.  
  
"Well, then. We've found out that sex is another way of coping you have used, one which is far less self-destructive. However, if an attack comes over you in a crowded shopping mall, it's probably not the most practical method, is it?" Margaret asked with a wicked gleam in her eye.  
  
"Not so much," agreed Buffy.  
  
"Then let me show you a few techniques that have been proven to work for others, all right? You can try them out the next time you begin to feel overwhelmed and see which works the best. I think you'll find you can soon get by without cutting yourself anymore."  
  
"That would be wonderful. Thank you, Margaret."  
  
"Don't thank me yet, dear. We still have a long way to go. But I know we will get there."  
  
Buffy smiled.  
  
From his eavesdropping position on the front porch, Spike smiled too.  
  
* * * * *   
  
11.  
  
"Is Margaret coming over tonight?" asked Dawn over her bowl of breakfast cereal.  
  
"Seven o'clock, same as always," Buffy answered.   
  
"I've got to go to Alicia's house after school tonight to finish that science project, remember? I might not get home 'til eight. Will she still be here, 'cause I really want to talk to her."  
  
Buffy smiled at her sister. It was amazing how much things could change in a week. She'd been right when she'd believed the healer could help mend things between Dawn and her. After just a couple of sessions with Margaret, Dawn was acting almost like the girl she'd been an eternity ago before Glory had come to terrorize their lives.   
  
"Sure. We'll probably just be finishing up when you get home. I know she'll be happy you want to talk to her again."  
  
"She's awesome, don't you think? She's like the world's coolest grandmother, or something."  
  
"Awesome is the word," Buffy agreed.  
  
"Since you started seeing her you seem, um, better," the girl added, cautiously.   
  
"I am better. Much," said Buffy. It had been three days since the last time she'd cut herself. She was determined to make it four.  
  
"But not all better yet? Not back to normal?"  
  
Buffy sighed and told her the truth. Margaret was big on getting her to face facts; to see things for what they were and accept them. "Nope. Not all better yet. But I will be, don't worry. It'll happen."  
  
Dawn looked uncertain.  
  
"It will. Margaret said so too, okay? It's just going to take some more time. Speaking of which, you'd better get going or you'll be late for school."  
  
Gulping down her orange juice and grabbing her backpack, Dawn flew out of the kitchen and out the front door, shouting a quick 'goodbye' to her sister.  
  
Buffy had an assignment to do herself. Margaret had asked her to start a journal to keep track of what set off the panic feelings. She'd also given her an exercise that was due that night. Opening the notebook to the page she'd left off on, she looked at what she'd done so far.   
  
At the top of the page was written: 'Support System: these are the people I can count on'. Underneath the title was a list of names: Giles, Xander, Dawn, Tara, Anya, Willow and Spike. She was supposed to write down how each one helped her along with the ways in which she needed them.  
  
Giles, Xander, Dawn, Willow and Tara had all been pretty easy to do. Anya was a bit harder. But the toughest by far was Spike. When the time came to write about him, all she could do was stare at the blue lines on the paper. She couldn't seem to capture her thoughts about him and put them into words. In the end, all she could write was 'he went through Glory's torture to protect Dawn' and 'somehow he always sees right through me'. It was a start, she thought. That would have to be good enough for now.  
  
* * * * *   
  
Eight o'clock came and Dawn still hadn't come home. While Margaret had a cup of tea in the kitchen, Buffy decided to go looking for the girl at her friend's house. Before she reached the front door she heard voices outside. When she peeked through the window she saw Dawn and Spike laughing together on the porch. She resisted her impulse to scold the girl. Instead, she stood quietly and watched them together.   
  
"Nonsense, Niblet," Spike was saying, "what the hell do you want with a pierced lip?"  
  
"All the cool girls at school have them," Dawn argued.  
  
"So if the cool girls at school all decided to shave their heads and wear their leg hair in braids, you'd do that too, would you?"  
  
Dawn erupted into giggles. "Eww, that's so gross!"  
  
"And putting a needle through your lip isn't?"  
  
"Yeah, okay. I see what you mean. No pierced lip."  
  
"Besides, you don't need that kind of thing to be cool. You're cool just the way you are, Lil Bit."  
  
Buffy could see the blush spread across her sister's cheeks. "You really think I'm cool, Spike?" the teenager asked, shyly, playing with the silver bracelet he'd given her for Christmas.  
  
Oh brother - teenage crushes, thought Buffy. But what teenage girl could resist Spike? He was a good-looking older guy with a motorcycle, an aura of danger and a long leather coat. Not to mention a body that just didn't quit, thought Buffy. The memory of just exactly what she'd gotten up to with that body made Buffy blush too. Okay, 'honesty time', as Margaret would say. If Buffy faced the truth, she'd have to admit that Dawn wasn't the only one with a thing for the vampire.   
  
Collecting herself, Buffy opened the door and called Dawn's name. Dawn and Spike turned around to look at her, guilty expressions on their faces. Spike started to explain immediately.  
  
"Look, don't be all pissed off, Slayer. We weren't doin' nothing, just talking."  
  
Buffy held up a hand to ward off further explanations. "It's okay. Really. But Margaret's waiting for you in the kitchen, Dawn."  
  
The teen glanced at her watch and grimaced, "Oh no, it's past eight. I didn't mean to be late, Buffy I just-"  
  
"Don't worry about it. Just don't keep her waiting any longer, all right?"  
  
Dawn ran inside the house, anxious to speak with the healer. Buffy stayed out on the porch where Spike was looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face.  
  
"What's going on, Slayer? Not gonna threaten to stake me for daring to speak to the Niblet? Getting soft in your old age, are you?" Spike asked.  
  
"Me? Soft?"  
  
"In all the right places," mumbled Spike suggestively.   
  
"That's it. Conversation over," she said with disgust as she started to go back in the house.  
  
"Buffy - wait!" Spike called after her.   
  
She stopped and turned back to look at him.   
  
"Sorry," he said, "can't help myself sometimes. Look, can I ask, are you feeling.... Is Margaret helping you?"  
  
"Yeah, she is," said Buffy, not meeting the Vampire's eyes.   
  
"That's good," he said. "I mean it. I'm glad."   
  
When she finally met his gaze she saw his concern was undeniably real. Still not sure how to handle this New Improved Sincere Spike, Buffy fled back into the safety of the house. Sometimes she felt she'd rather take on a dozen demons than spend 10 minutes alone with Spike. At least she knew what to do with the demons.   
  
* * * * *   
  
"Do you ever think about it anymore - your afterlife experience?" asked Margaret during their next session.  
  
"You mean the time I spent in Heaven?"  
  
"That's one name for it. Do you?"  
  
"Yeah. Not as much as I did at first. The memory of it gets a little fuzzier every day. But when things get really hard to deal with, I wish I was back there."  
  
They sat quietly for a few moments as Buffy recalled the all-pervasive peace she had known during that time. After awhile she sighed deeply.  
  
"I just don't understand, Margaret."  
  
"Understand what, dear?"  
  
"This life - what it's all about. Why we have to go through it. It's so ... hard. There's so much pain and suffering. What's the point?"  
  
Margaret's heart went out to the girl. How could she ever accept the trials of this life after knowing what's waiting on the other side?  
  
"Oh my dear child, if I had the answer to that question I'd be the wisest being on Earth."  
  
Buffy gave a bitter little laugh and shook her head. She hadn't really expected Margaret to have the answers. Maybe there weren't any answers to be had.  
  
"There is one thing I can tell you, though," the healer continued. "What you said is true; life is hard. But it isn't all pain and suffering and heartache. This world has many wonderful gifts too; gifts that nurture us in good times so we can be strong enough to face the bad."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like the beauty of a sunset. Your favorite song. Art. Poetry. Family. Friends. And the greatest one of all: Love. In this life we can either accept and embrace the gifts we're offered, or turn our backs and shut them out. It's a choice, Buffy. And the choice is up to you."  
  
A choice, thought Buffy. My choice. So what do I choose?  
  
* * * * *  
  
Long after her session with Margaret ended that night, Buffy was still too restless to sleep. Her mind kept coming back to the choices she'd made in her life so far - and the ones that now lay in front of her. Hoping some fresh air would help clear her head, she stepped out onto the back porch and breathed deeply, stretching her arms to work out the tension in her neck and shoulders.   
  
Her Slayer sense soon registered the presence of the persistent peroxide-blond vampire. She spotted him lurking under a tree in the back yard, examining something small he held in his hands. Curious, she tried to make out what it was, but she was too far away to see.  
  
"Spike," she yelled, making him jump. He spun around to look at her, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  
  
"Bloody hell, woman. Don't DO that!"   
  
Buffy came down the steps and approached him. "Afraid I'll give you a heart attack?" she goaded. "What are you doing, anyway?"  
  
"Nothin' ... havin' a smoke," said Spike, trying to appear nonchalant.  
  
"Riiiight. I've known you long enough to know when you're up to something -- and you're up to something," Buffy said, crossing her arms in front of her and tapping a booted toe on the ground.  
  
Spike attempted an indignant scowl with little success. "I don't know what  
you're on about, Slayer. I'm just standing here, taking the night air,  
enjoying a cigarette, mindin' me own business."  
  
Buffy noticed he was keeping one hand out of sight. "Uh-huh. So what've  
you got in your hand?"  
  
Spike put his cigarette between his lips and displayed his open right hand to  
her. "Nothin', see?" he mumbled.  
  
"The other hand," she said, rolling her eyes.  
  
In a move that displayed his vampire quickness, Spike traded hands behind his back and held out his now-empty left hand for her inspection. He gave her a wide-eyed innocent look she didn't buy for a second.  
  
Buffy sighed and shook her head, "What -- do I look THAT blonde? You switched whatever it is into your other hand. Now what is it?" Slowly she advanced on him, a gleam appearing in her eye as she began to enjoy this little game.   
  
"It's none of your bloody business, Slayer. Now sod off and let me finish  
my smoke in peace."  
  
Interesting, thought Buffy. He was trying to look all angry and Bad but  
she could tell he was covering something up. What had him so flustered? She moved slowly forward, subtly steering him back toward the fence.  
  
Gradually retreating, he watched her moving in on him with the Buffy version of his own evil grin on her face. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes distracted him. Then his heel caught on a tree root and he lost his  
balance, staggering a few steps until his back came up hard against the tall fence.  
  
In a heartbeat she was on him, pulling his hands from behind his back.   
The welcome feel of her hands on his body and her breath against his skin froze him in place for a moment. The next thing he knew she had both hands gripped around his tightly closed fist and was trying to peel his fingers back to reveal what was inside.   
  
Spike held tight, unwilling to open his hand but lacking the willpower to  
tear himself out of her grasp. Any excuse to be this close to her was welcome. He looked down at her golden head, wanting to lean forward and kiss the top of it, wanting to pull her into his arms and tell her he'd happily give her what he was holding. He'd gladly give her everything. His love. The world. Eternity.  
  
Buffy was in determined-girl mode. Finding out what Spike was  
trying to hide from her was suddenly the most important thing in the world. Using all her strength, she pried his long fingers open slowly, one by one, concentrating on her task to the exclusion of everything else.   
  
All at once his fist sprang wide open. And there, in the palm of his hand,  
was a tiny, badly-wrapped Christmas present. Though it looked much the  
worse for wear, there was no mistaking that her name was printed on the tag.   
  
Taking a small step backward, Buffy stared at the package and swallowed hard. So the joke was on her, after all.   
  
"I told you it was nothing," Spike muttered bitterly, seeing her reaction. He closed it in his hand again and drew his arm back like a major league pitcher preparing to hurl it across home plate.  
  
"No!" yelled Buffy, startling him before he could throw it. "No," she repeated softly when he stood there staring at her, head tilted to the side in silent query. "Don't."   
  
She reached out her hand for the present.  
  
Spike looked down at the mangled package. Then with exaggerated  
care he began to try to smooth out the wrapping paper and stick down the  
edges where the tape had come undone. When he'd got it looking as good as it was going to get, he held it out to the Slayer.  
  
She took it silently, staring at the package in her hand for a long moment before beginning to unwrap it. Spike chewed on his bottom lip as he looked on.   
  
Under the wrapping paper was the smooth blue velvet of a small jewelry box. She took a deep breath and opened it. Inside was a delicate gold I.D. bracelet with 'Buffy' engraved on it in script. She turned it over, knowing there'd be an inscription; expecting it to be a declaration of his love. Instead, she was surprised to find two simple words.  
  
"Nothing's Wrong," she read, in little more than a whisper.   
  
"It's the truth, you know, luv. You're the closest thing to bloody perfect I've seen in this world. Thought you could use a reminder of that when the going gets rough."  
  
Buffy turned the bracelet over and over in her hands, admiring the way it gleamed even in the dim moonlight. For a long moment they stood together saying nothing until the silence became too much for the vampire.  
  
"If you don't like it, you don't have to-"  
  
"No!" she protested. "I ... It's ...Um ..."  
  
Spike heard her sniffling and saw her surreptitiously wipe at her eyes.  
  
"Buffy ... You're not crying, are you?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," she sniffed, still not meeting his eyes.  
  
"Buffy! You are crying. You're crying, luv!"  
  
She looked up at him in confusion, her eyes brimming. Then suddenly it hit her -- tears! For the first time since she'd been brought back she was really and truly choked up and teary-eyed. This was the breakthrough she'd been waiting for.   
  
Spike was looking at her with a huge grin on his face, and in a stunning pendulum-swing of emotions she began to laugh. He laughed along with her, picking her up in a hug and swinging her around and around with a whoop of pure joy. When Dawn ran outside to see what the commotion was, she was greeted by the surprising sight of her sister squealing happily in Spike's arms.  
  
"Buffy, are you okay?"  
  
Spike turned to face the girl, releasing Buffy in the process. "She's crying, Niblet."  
  
"Spike made me cry!" added her beaming, exuberant sister.   
  
"Okay ... not getting it," said a very puzzled Dawn.   
  
Buffy ran over to the porch, wiping her eyes and holding out her wet hand for Dawn to see. "Look, Dawnie, tears -- real, normal-girl tears."  
  
Comprehension lit the teenager's face. "Oh, Buffy! That's so awesome!"   
  
The sisters hugged. It was Dawn's turn to fight back tears of her own.  
  
"C'mon, let's go," shouted Spike.  
  
"Huh? Go where?" asked Buffy.  
  
"To Margaret's, of course. She'll want to know straight away."  
  
"But it's really late."  
  
"Bugger the time, pet. We'll get her out of bed if need be."  
  
"And tomorrow's a school day for Dawn," Buffy protested.  
  
"This is more important than bleedin' school," huffed an impatient Spike.  
  
Buffy looked from her hopeful sister to the determined vampire and knew there was no use resisting. "Well, don't just stand there," she said, "what are you guys waiting for? Let's go!"  
  
* * * * *   
12.  
  
Spike paced back and forth across the tiny living room of Margaret's cottage. He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket and put it to his lips, but before he could light it, Dawn cleared her throat to get his attention and shook her head 'no'.  
  
"Oh, bollocks," he mumbled, flicking it into the fireplace. "I'll go stark raving mad if they're not finished soon."  
  
The pair stared intently at the closed door that separated them from Buffy and Margaret, as if by looking at it long and hard enough they might suddenly be able to see what was happening on the other side.  
  
"It hasn't really been all that long," Dawn said.  
  
"It's been sodding ages," countered Spike.  
  
As if to prove his point, the mantel clock chimed one. Yawning, Dawn settled back into her comfy chair, resigned to waiting as long as it took. Spike stopped wearing a path in the carpet long enough to give the clock an evil glare, then he went back to pacing.   
  
* * * * *   
  
Eyes closed, hands joined, Buffy and Margaret sat together linked in a deep trance. Margaret's empathic powers easily found the newly formed crack in the wall imprisoning the girl's feelings. But eliminating that barrier was a tricky proposition. Slowly, gently, she worked to dismantle it piece by piece, careful to avoid a disastrous collapse that could overwhlem Buffy with a flood of powerful emotions all at once.  
  
The task was exhausting but gratifying. Each distinct feeling the healer located and liberated gave her more confidence that no permanent damage had been done.   
  
At last, Margaret ended the trance and released the Slayer's hands.  
  
"Open your eyes, Buffy," she said.  
  
Clear green eyes fluttered open and focused. Buffy took a deep breath.  
Margaret reached out with her senses and felt the peace the girl was experiencing.  
  
"I feel ... great. Does that mean it worked?" she asked, hopefully.  
  
"I believe it was a success," Margaret answered. "The serenity you're feeling at the moment is something I've left you with on purpose. It's somewhat of an emotional band-aid to help you transition back to having all your feelings again."  
  
"It's temporary?"  
  
"It will gradually wear off during the next day or so, letting you ease back into dealing with the full power of your emotions."  
  
"But I'm going to be back to my old self again, right?"  
  
Margaret reached out and took one of Buffy's hands again. "Oh, my dear child. No one can experience what you've been through and emerge unchanged."  
  
"No," agreed Buffy, solemnly. "I guess not."  
  
"Change isn't a bad thing, though. It's part of life, is it not?"  
  
The girl considered that for a second, and nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Whether we like it or not, things change all the time. So do people."  
  
"And perhaps even vampires...?" Margaret asked with a twinkle in her eye.  
  
Buffy smiled, a bit reluctantly. "I suppose that's ... possible."  
  
"Speaking of vampires. I know one who's likely to break the door down   
If we don't come out soon. Are you ready to tell Dawn and Spike the good news?"  
  
"I can't wait."  
  
* * * * *   
  
Spike's sensitive ears picked up the sound of voices in the next room. So - it was over, then. He hoped with all his being that it had worked.  
  
The door opened and the two women emerged looking tired but pleased. Buffy glanced from her sleeping sister to the anxious vampire and was filled with a sense of warmth and happiness. The long-buried feelings took her by surprise and she gasped, feeling light headed and a little giddy.  
  
Spike was at her side in an instant, gently taking her elbow to steady her. "You all right, luv?" When she looked up at him and smiled, he went weak in the knees.  
  
"It worked. I've got my feelings back," she said, stepping forward to hug him.   
  
Her arms around him felt warm and right. He pulled her closer, holding her tightly for a moment, revelling in the feel of her heart beating against his chest.  
  
"Buffy?" Dawn's sleepy voice asked from behind them.  
  
The Slayer left Spike's arms and went to her sister's side, feeling tears of joy fill her eyes. "I'm okay, Dawn. I'm myself again."   
  
Tears flowed freely as the sisters embraced and rocked each other. Spike saw Margaret dab at her eyes with a handkerchief and found himself wishing he had one, too.   
  
When all eyes were dry again, Margaret went to Spike and whispered something in his ear. He gave her a questioning look, but agreed to do as she asked.  
  
"Buffy, dear. I'd like to try a little experiment, if you don't mind," the healer began.  
  
"Um, what kind of experiment?"   
  
Stealthily, Spike moved to position himself behind the Slayer, waiting for Margaret's signal. Dawn watched him curiously.  
  
"You'll see," answered Margaret with a nod to Spike.  
  
The vampire suddently reached out and gave Buffy's arm a hard pinch. A second later the room was filled with yelps of pain from both of them..  
  
Buffy whirled on Spike, furious until she saw him holding his head in agony. "The chip. It works!" she exclaimed gleefully.  
  
"Glad someone's happy about it," complained the vampire through a haze of pain. He collapsed on the sofa, where Dawn joined him, patting his arm to comfort him.   
  
"Margaret - what happened?" asked Buffy.  
  
"I'm not entirely certain, but I believe your emotional block was somehow scrambling the signal the chip was picking up."  
  
"And all this time I thought there was something wrong with me - like Will's spell had left me not quite human."  
  
Margaret clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Nonsense, Buffy. Nothing's wrong with you that a little time and rest can't fix."  
  
Buffy reached into the pocket where she'd put the bracelet earlier that night and felt its smooth, cool links between her fingers. "Nothing, hmmm?" she asked. Her eyes met Spike's briefly, then skipped away again.  
  
Buffy saw Dawn overtaken by a huge yawn, and decided it was time for them to go home. She sent her sister and Spike ahead to the car so she could say a private good night to the healer.  
  
"I don't even know how to begin to thank you, Margaret. What can I possibly do to repay you?"  
  
Margaret shrugged and favored her with a serene smile. "Just take care of yourself, my dear. Remember, you're not used to all those feelings. They may be a little overly sensitive for awhile. You may feel a bit confused. But don't avoid your emotions just because they may be unpleasant."  
  
Buffy gave her a mock-innocent look. "Who me? Avoid?"  
  
Laughing, Margaret shook a scolding finger at the girl.  
  
"Okay. No more Denial-Girl; Slayer's Honor," Buffy vowed, crossing her heart. She hugged the woman tight. "Good night. And thank you, from the bottom of my heart."  
  
* * * * *   
  
The drive back to the Summers' house wasn't far, but by the time they pulled into the driveway Dawn was sleeping soundly.   
  
"It's so late. I hate to wake her," whispered Buffy.  
  
"You don't have to. I can bring her in," Spike answered.  
  
Buffy nodded. Carefully, Spike lifted the semi-conscious teenager out of the car and followed her sister to the front door. Buffy was standing inside with the door open wide.   
  
At the threshold Spike stopped. "Oh, um... I forgot. I can just put her down here and-"  
  
"Come in, Spike." The Slayer's eyes met the vampire's, both remembering the last night she'd invited him inside. It was the night she had died. The night he'd vowed to protect Dawn until the end of the world.  
  
Now he carried the sleepy girl up the stairs and gently deposited her on her bed. Buffy threw a quilt over her sister and turned out the light behind them as they left her to her dreams and went back downstairs.  
  
At the front door they both came to a stop, the silence between them suddenly awkward. They both began speaking at once.  
  
"There's so much-"  
  
"I"ll be on my-"  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"No, you."  
  
Buffy took a steadying breath and gathered her thoughts again before beginning. "I was just going to say that there's a lot of stuff I need to thank you for."  
  
"Yeah, right. Like shooting you with a tranq dart? Chaining you up?" Spike scoffed.  
  
Smiling wryly, Buffy shook her head. "Not exactly what I was thinking of."  
  
"No doubt, luv," he smirked.   
  
"Look, I'm better thanks to Margaret. And I never would have found her without you." Spike began to interrupt, but she raised a hand to stop him. "I finally feel normal again, and I want to celebrate -- tomorrow night at the Bronze with the whole gang, or whatever's left of 'em, and Margaret, too."   
  
"Did I hear the hint of an invitation in there somewhere?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, you did."  
  
Spike turned smug. "Two in one night. I must be doin' somethin' right."  
  
"I'd say 'don't let it go to your head,' but I can see it's too late for that," Buffy sighed. She opened the door for him. "Goodnight, Spike."  
  
He swooped in and kissed her on the cheek before walking out the door. "Sweet dreams, Slayer," called the very self-satisfied vampire as he disappeared into the darkness.  
  
* * * * *   
  
13.  
  
The mood at the Bronze was one of pure celebration. To Buffy, it felt like a fog had lifted and the sun started shining again after a long wintry night. She looked around the table at the friends gathered around her and smiled at the pleasure she felt just being with them.   
  
Beside her, Dawn laughed at one of Xander's lame jokes. The sound of the girl's infectious giggles set off bubbles of joy within her. One after another, she experienced emotions she'd thought were lost to her forever. It was an amazing night. One she wanted to share with the people closest to her.  
  
Spike and Margaret still hadn't arrived. Buffy kept one eye on the door, wondering what was keeping them. But just as she started to check her watch for the tenth time, she saw them walk in. She watched as Spike ushered the tiny woman easily through the crowd. Heads turned as he passed, admiring the stunningly handsome man dressed all in black.   
  
She rose and went to greet them. After giving Margaret a welcoming kiss she introduced her to her friends. The entire time the introductions were being made she was aware of Spike's presence standing close behind her. She wondered if he knew his nearness was making her heart beat faster.  
  
Toasts were made and stories were told and glasses raised to loved ones no longer with them. Buffy laughed and smiled and wiped an occasional tear from her eye. Sometimes the swiftly changing emotions made her light headed. Margaret picked up on what she was feeling and took her aside to make sure she was all right.   
  
"How are you doing, dear?" the healer asked.  
  
"I'm good. It's just; sometimes the feelings are really strong. It makes me a little uncomfortable."  
  
"That's normal, Buffy. The important thing is to let them come through. Don't try to push them aside. If you start to feel any panic symptoms, remember your breathing exercises."  
  
Buffy looked past Margaret to where Spike stood watching them with obvious concern. She met his intense gaze and felt her pulse jump.   
  
"Margaret, you said to tell you if my feelings started getting confused again - that maybe we'd need a few more sessions to get them completely sorted out."  
  
"Are you saying you're feeling that way now?"  
  
"Yeah, um, sometimes," she said, glancing again in Spike's direction.   
  
"Give me your hand and close your eyes for a moment," Margaret instructed. Buffy felt the sense of peace she experienced whenever the healer reached out to link with her emotions.  
  
Taking Buffy completely by surprise, Margaret let go of her hand and began to chuckle.  
  
"What? What's so funny?"  
  
"Oh, my dear. There's nothing mixed up about your emotions. Well, nothing abnormal anyway. What you're feeling is what women have felt in the presence of men they're attracted to since the beginning of time."  
  
Buffy found herself turning red. "Oh."   
  
Margaret gestured back to the table, "Come on. Let's get back to the party, shall we?"  
  
"You go ahead. I'll be along in a minute."  
  
As she knew he would, Spike came over to her as soon as Margaret left. "You all right?" he asked.   
  
"I'm fine," she answered, trying to keep her heart rate under control.  
  
He reached out a hand to her. "In that case, come dance with me, Slayer. You know you want to."   
  
Taking his hand without a word, she let him lead her out onto the dance floor. She stepped closer to him, raising her arms to drape around his neck. A flash of gold at her wrist caught his eye and he took it in his hand.   
  
"You're wearing it," he said, touching the charm on the bracelet he'd given her. Still at a loss for words, she nodded and moved the rest of the way into his arms.   
  
As they swayed together to the sultry music, she felt they'd danced like this a thousand times before. He moved with a grace that barely masked the powerful creature lurking just below the surface. Her mind flashed back, recalling how good he'd felt inside her. Tingling shivers ran down her spine.   
  
"I've wanted to dance with you for so long," he murmured into her ear. The sexy, low rumble of his voice gave her goose bumps. "Ever since the first night I saw you - right here in this very place."  
  
Buffy remembered that night. They'd fought out back in the alley, the first fight of many over the years. Now, it hardly seemed real that they could have been enemies.  
  
"That was a different lifetime," she said, looking up into his eyes. "So much has happened. I'm not that girl anymore."  
  
"And I'm not the same man either. When are you going to start believing that?"  
  
Confused by the warring emotions inside her, she didn't know what to say. When the song came to its end they left the dance floor together in silence.   
  
Excusing herself, she fled to the ladies room to pull herself together. Damn it. Why did she let him get her so mixed up? When he was holding her close like that, she had no idea how to interpret her own feelings, much less try to explain them to him. Sighing, she tried to stop thinking about it and set to work touching up her makeup.  
  
The moment she rejoined the others she felt the change in the room. She scanned the crowd. He was gone. Surprisingly, the confusion she'd been feeling turned into an awful emptiness. She wanted to be with him; that much at least was coming through loud and clear.   
  
"Where's Spike?" she asked Xander.  
  
"He took off. Asked us to drive Margaret home later. Oh yeah, he said to tell you goodnight."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Xander gestured to his fiancŽe and Margaret, who had their heads together, engrossed in conversation. "Those two seem to have really hit it off. I can't get a word in edgewise."  
  
Buffy saw Tara and Dawn heading back from the dance floor. It warmed her heart to see her sister having such a good time, acting for all the world like a totally normal teenager.   
  
"Xander, do me a favor?"  
  
"Sure, anything."  
  
"Give my little sister a thrill and ask her to dance, will you?"   
  
Flattered, he agreed and turned to catch Dawn as she reached the table. "Excuse me, miss. May I have the pleasure of this dance?"  
  
Dawn blushed from head to toe and glanced in her sister's direction for approval.   
  
"Go ahead. Have fun, but don't get too close. Anya gets totally jealous," Buffy teased. "And Dawn - I need to go do a quick patrol. Is it okay if Tara takes you home?"  
  
The girl nodded, but Xander looked concerned. "You want someone to go with you?" he asked.  
  
"No thanks," she answered, "This is something I have to do on my own.  
  
* * * * *   
  
The door of his crypt was slightly ajar when she got there. She walked in without knocking. He was standing in the shadows, waiting for her.   
  
"Why'd you leave?" she asked.  
  
"Maybe I wanted to see if you'd come after me."  
  
"I did."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Maybe I wanted to dance some more."  
  
Before he knew what was happening, Spike was on the floor, the Slayer above him pinning him to the ground. Her tongue plunged inside his mouth and her hands were everywhere, tearing at the buttons on his shirt as she rubbed the full length of his body with her own. Summoning all his strength, the vampire resisted. He trapped both of her hands in his and held her away at arm's length.  
  
"No," he gasped. "Not like that. Not this time"  
  
Dazed and panting for breath, Buffy was thoroughly confused. "But why? I thought you liked that."  
  
"Oh gods, Slayer, of course I do. I like it any which way you want to give it to me, bruises and broken bones be damned. I just... Tonight I want..."  
  
She looked down into his eyes, terrified that he was going to turn her away. "What?" she asked. "What do you want?"  
  
"Let me make love to you," he whispered desperately.   
  
Trembling, unable to speak, she leaned down to brush her lips ever so tenderly against his. She felt him moan when he kissed her back. Then he rolled her over onto her back, eyes searching hers for her answer. "You can trust me, Buffy. I'll never hurt you."  
  
She kissed him again, and gave herself up to him.   
  
The next thing she knew she was lying in his bed watching him slowly remove first her clothes and then his own. He began to kiss her, starting with her fingers and the palms of her hands, moving up to her wrists and the insides of her elbows, kissing, licking and nibbling. She shuddered when his sharp teeth grazed her shoulders as he worked his way up to her sensitive neck.   
  
Then his lips were against hers and he was kissing her like he'd never done before. Each kiss was softer than air, so unexpectedly gentle and sweet it made her heart ache with tenderness for him. Wanting more, she tried to deepen the kisses, but he moved away, down to her neck and beyond.   
  
She moaned when his mouth covered one of her breasts as his hand cupped the other possessively. Glancing down, she watched as he suckled her gently. The look of wonder on his face nearly brought her to tears.   
  
Spike continued his loving exploration of her body, reacquainting himself with every delicious swell and curve of her. He'd wanted this for so long - the chance to take his time, to show her how much he worshipped every inch of her.   
  
With infinite care, he moved slowly down the side of her body until he reached the soft skin of her inner thigh. His tongue traced downward, encountering the rough-edged scars of the wounds she'd inflicted upon herself. She flinched and went rigid beneath him.   
  
"No," she whispered, "don't."  
  
"Easy, luv," he said, raising his head to meet her eyes. "It's all right."  
  
Shrinking away from him, she sat up, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them protectively.   
  
"Buffy, pet ... what's wrong?" He moved up next to her and draped a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders.   
  
"I d-don't want you to touch me there. What I did is so ... I feel ashamed."  
  
"Luv, you were trying to cope with something unbearable the only way you knew how. There's nothing shameful in that."   
  
"But it's all so ugly," she lamented, burying her head in her hands. "I just want to forget."  
  
"Buffy, look at me." He eased her hands away from her face and looked into her troubled eyes. "Those scars are a part of you and there's nothing about you - absolutely nothing -- that could ever be ugly to me."  
  
She found his sincerity completely overwhelming. "You really do mean that, don't you?"   
  
"Yes."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Because I'm completely, helplessly, hopelessly in love with you -- in case you hadn't noticed."  
  
She reached out her hand to caress his cheek, looking at him as if she were seeing him for the very first time. "Maybe I hadn't. Not really. Not until now."   
  
Leaning into her caress he whispered, "Well, it's about bloody time then, isn't it?"  
  
Buffy laughed softly and smiled at him. Her distress melted away.  
  
"See? I can always get a grin if I try." He smoothed back a strand of hair that had fallen in her face. "You okay now?"  
  
"I'm okay now."  
  
"Good. What d'you want to do, then? Play Parcheesi? Go for a drive? Watch telly?"  
  
She smiled at him. He really could be incredibly sweet sometimes. It was almost enough to make her forget he was a vampire. But then again, that really wasn't something she wanted to forget. It was his strength, his power, his dangerous side that made him such a perfect match for her.   
  
"I've got a much better idea," Buffy said, suggestively.  
  
Spike tried out his innocent look again, "Do tell, Slayer. I'm all ears."  
  
Slowly Buffy lay back, stretching her body out full length on the bed. She arched her back and licked her lips in silent invitation, knowing full well the effect she was having on the vampire beside her. "Well?" she asked, trailing a lazy hand over her breasts and downward to rest on her thigh. "What are you waiting for? I think you left off just about ... here."   
  
"Buffy..." he gasped, his heart in his throat.   
  
"Make love to me, Spike."  
  
He didn't need to be asked twice. Blanketing her with his body, he reached down and discovered the white-hot wetness between her legs.   
  
"I want you so much, luv"   
  
"Show me."  
  
Unable to wait a second longer, he entered her with one excruciatingly slow thrust. He knew he'd turn his back on a lifetime in Heaven rather than give up one moment joined with her like this.   
  
Buffy was soon lost in sensation, awash in the waves of pleasure he was sending through her. Opening her eyes, she watched him moving above her. The expression of blind adoration on his face took her breath away. Never in her life had she felt so completely loved.  
  
"I need you, Spike," she said.   
  
"I'm yours."   
  
"You won't leave me?"   
  
"Never."  
  
"Promise me."  
  
"I promise, my love. I'm yours. I'll be yours forever. And I'll love you 'til the end of time," he vowed solemnly.  
  
Gasping for breath as Spike thrust harder and deeper inside her, she let go of all further conscious thought as the first stirrings of her orgasm overtook her. She called out his name when she climaxed, taking him over the edge with her. And in that moment, enveloped within his boundless love, she knew without a doubt that she'd come home.  
  
* * * * *   
  
Epilogue  
(Six Months Later)  
  
  
Twinkling lights, glowing candles, romantic background music; Buffy had to admit that Anya had done a surprisingly good job planning her big day. The wedding had been truly lovely, and the reception was off to a good start. But the best part of all was sharing the day with all her old friends.  
  
Buffy stood a little away from the crowd sipping a glass of champagne as she gave thanks to the powers that be for all the good things in her life. She was so happy to have Willow home in Sunnydale, seemingly back to her old self again. Will and Tara stood across the room, hand in hand, chatting and laughing with Giles and his new girlfriend, Amanda.   
  
As much as she missed her former Watcher, Buffy had to admit the move to London had been good for him. He looked relaxed and happy. And if there was one thing she'd learned in the past year, it was the importance of finding the things in life that make you happy and holding onto them tightly with both hands.   
  
Spike came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Penny for your thoughts, luv."  
  
"I was just thinking that it was a beautiful wedding," Buffy said, dreamily. "I used to daydream about my wedding day when I was a little girl. I wanted a dress with a skirt so fluffy and white I'd look like I was floating on a cloud when I walked down the aisle. And a dozen bridesmaids all in pink. And a horse drawn carriage."  
  
"And Prince Charming himself waiting at the alter, I suppose," Spike added, amused.  
  
"Yeah. Something like that. Funny how different your life turns out from the way you pictured it, isn't it?"   
  
Not knowing exactly what to say, he remained silent and gently stroked her hair.  
  
"Xander almost looks like a grown up in his tux," she observed. "I've never seen him so handsome. And Anya makes a beautiful bride."  
  
"She's all right, I guess. But put you in that dress and you'd make her look like the dog's dinner."  
  
"You think so?" she asked, pleased.  
  
"I know so."  
  
Feeling snug in Spike's arms, Buffy watched as Xander led Anya to the dance floor to begin their first dance. "Look at them. They look so happy, so much in love. Not that they're the only ones," she added, turning her head to kiss him on the cheek.  
  
Squeezing her tightly, Spike kissed her on the ear. "No they're not," he whispered. "You know, I'll never forget the first time you said that to me."  
  
Buffy played dumb. "Said what?"  
  
He stopped kissing her ear and gave it a sharp little bite. "Prat!" he scolded.  
  
"Ow!" she said, giggling. "Oh -- you mean when I told you I loved you."  
  
Each time he heard the words he fell a little deeper under her spell. "Yeah, that."  
  
"You cried," she said, smiling at the memory  
  
"Oi, keep your voice down," he hissed, "it was only a few little tears. No need to broadcast it to the whole bleedin' place is there? Don't want them thinkin' I'm as big a poof as Angel."  
  
"They were very manly tears," Buffy comforted, patting his arm.  
  
"Ta, luv," he replied.  
  
The music changed and other couples joined the bride and groom on the dance floor. Content to watch from the sidelines, Buffy remained in Spike's embrace, comforted by the solid feel of his body against her back and his strong arms holding her close against his chest.  
  
Dawn and her date joined the group and began to slow dance. Remembering what it was like to be 16 and crazy about a first boyfriend, her older sister smiled.   
  
"Look at that," she said, nodding toward the young couple. "Aren't they cute?"  
  
Spike growled low in his throat. "Not exactly the word I had in mind. If that lad's hands wander one inch lower, I'm going to break every bone in his body. Twice."  
  
"Easy now, Mr. Overprotective Guy. They're just dancing. Don't go all fangy and 'Grr'. You wouldn't want to spoil the mood for all those happy couples out there."  
  
"So, who do you think will be next to take the plunge, then?" he murmured into her ear.  
  
Buffy's eyes swept across the dance floor, landing first on Willow and Amber and then on Giles and his new girlfriend.   
  
"Who says it has to be one of them?" she asked, coyly.  
  
"Don't tell me all this has put you in a matrimonial mood, pet," he teased.  
  
Buffy sighed wistfully, "Would that be such a terrible thing?"   
  
Not sure he'd heard right, Spike turned her around to face him, searching her face to see if she was serious. "What did you say, pet?"  
  
She tried to shrug it off with a laugh. "Nothing. Never mind. It must be the champagne and sappy love songs melting my brain. But hey -- wouldn't the Watcher's Council totally wig out?"   
  
When she wouldn't meet his eyes, Spike knew it was more than just a joke. He wasn't willing to let her brush it aside so casually. "Buffy, we've never talked about it before, but-"  
  
"I know we haven't," she interrupted, "'cause there's about a zillion scary reasons why it would never work."  
  
"So you have thought about it, then?"  
  
"Sure I have."  
  
Spike felt his undead heart leap in his chest. "I've thought about it, too, luv. The idea of us getting mar-"  
  
Her anxiety level rising fast, she panicked and cut him off. "Of course, I've thought about a lot of other insane things, too. Like dying my hair purple or learning to play the accordion. Doesn't mean I'd actually go through with any of them," she cautioned, adding a hollow sounding laugh.  
  
"Of course you wouldn't," Spike sighed. He knew this pattern of hers all too well. It wasn't the first time she'd obliquely brought up a serious subject only to quickly retreat again when something spooked her.   
  
"You, uh ... you wouldn't go through with it either, would you?" she asked hesitantly.  
  
Spike knew damned well she knew the answer to that question. He'd go to Hell and back for her every day of the week and twice on Sundays; of course he'd bloody well marry her. He'd do it hanging upside down from the Eiffel Tower, if that's what would make her happy. But instead of declaring his eternal love to her yet again, he decided to send the ball back into her court.   
  
"You know - if you asked me to marry you, I'm just crazy enough in love with you that I probably would," he answered. Then he shrugged before adding, "We'll never know for certain, though, will we? Because you'd never be crazy enough to ask."  
  
Predictably, she rose to his challenge. "You don't think so, huh?"  
  
"Not in a million years. I know you, luv. Better than you know yourself sometimes," came his cocky reply.  
  
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."  
  
"I guess there's always some small chance you might surprise me."  
  
Buffy opened her mouth to answer back but before she could, the jubilant bride grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her away from Spike.   
  
"Come on, Buffy. Come on all you single ladies," Anya called out. "It's time for the traditional throwing of the flowers!"   
  
"What my lovely bride means is the tossing of the bouquet," Xander explained to the assembled guests.  
  
"Which is exactly what I just said," argued the new Mrs. Harris, as she took her position with her back to the waiting group of women on the dance floor.  
  
Buffy made her way over to Willow and Tara, who greeted her with happy smiles. Dawn joined them too, chattering excitedly.  
  
"So does this really work? The girl who catches the bouquet is the next to get married?" Dawn asked.  
  
Willow gave Tara's hand a squeeze and answered, "That's what the tradition says, right Buffy?"  
  
"Absolutely," she agreed. She looked back over her shoulder to where Spike was watching along with Xander and Giles. Choices, she thought, remembering what Margaret had told her. Life was all about the choices you made and the chances you took. Turning back to wait for Anya to do her thing, Buffy made a decision.  
  
"Ready?" asked Anya. "Okay, here goes. One, two, three!"  
  
The bouquet flew high into the air, making a perfect arc toward the group awaiting it. But before it could land in any of the upraised hands, Buffy leapt straight up off the ground and snatched it in midair. Stunned, the other women were speechless as she casually turned and walked toward her waiting lover, a self-satisfied smile on her face.   
  
Spike grinned slyly as she approached. "Nice catch," he said.  
  
She shrugged and smiled. "It just kinda fell into my hands."  
  
"Oh did it, now."  
  
"Mmm-hmm. Looks like I'm going to be the next one to get married."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
"The bouquet is never wrong. And you'll never guess the crazy idea that just popped into my head," she grinned.  
  
"A crazy idea? You?"  
  
"Surprised?"  
  
"Dumbfounded."  
  
"You shouldn't be. I was crazy enough to fall in love with you, wasn't I?"  
  
"TouchŽ, pet."  
  
Buffy fiddled with the roses in the bouquet, rearranging the frilly baby's breath around them. "So?" she asked, casually, "Wanna get married?"  
  
Spike snorted. "Well, that was quite probably the most unromantic proposal I've ever heard."  
  
Pouting prettily, Buffy challenged, "Think you could do better?"  
  
"With both arms tied behind my back."  
  
"Okay, then, Mr. Romance. Go ahead, dazzle me."   
  
Looking deep into her eyes, Spike brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. "Buffy Anne Summers; woman of my dreams, love of my life, Sun to my Moon, keeper of my heart and soul -- would you do me the great honor of consenting to be my wife?"   
  
Buffy swallowed hard and had to clear her throat before she could speak. "That was ... not bad."  
  
"And your answer, luv?"  
  
Suddenly coy, she shrugged her shoulders. "I ... have to think about it."  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed and glittered dangerously. "Why, you little vixen. I ought to--"  
  
"Yes!" she shouted, gleefully throwing herself into his arms. "Of course the answer's yes, you idiot!"   
  
"Idiot! Is that a proper way to accept a heartfelt proposal, I ask you?" Spike complained.   
  
"Oh, shut up and kiss me, my sexy groom-to-be," Buffy demanded.  
  
Knowing when to admit defeat - (or was it victory?) - Spike shut up and did as he was told.  
  
  
  
THE END 


End file.
